


There Is No Admin in This System

by viklikesfic (v_angelique)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avengers Family, Developing Relationship, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Dom/sub, Harm Reduction, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Natasha Romanov Is a Good Bro, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Rough Sex, Someone Get That Boy a Therapist, Team as Family, Therapy, Trauma Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2020-01-14
Packaged: 2020-11-24 12:14:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 63,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20907485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/v_angelique/pseuds/viklikesfic
Summary: With Bucky Barnes hidden away inside his own mind, who exactly is in the body that shows up at the Tower asking for help?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> All right y'all, gotta be honest, I've been really torn on whether to start posting this. But I saw the comments on the last chapter of my previous work, with folks being really sad that it was over, and I wanted to offer something new. The conundrum of being a fanfic writer with a busy life--want to finish stories so they aren't forever-WIPs, feel bad when finishing story that it's not longer! I decided to go ahead and start posting this weekly, as I have 37K words written already and a solid outline for about five more chapters after that. On this schedule, I'll be on sabbatical when I run out of pre-written content, so there's a decent chance of being able to keep writing and posting weekly. But as with any WIP, I ask for grace! 
> 
> Also want to just clarify a few things at the start of this story. I've read various takes on Bucky Barnes having Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID), but typically it's hand-waved a bit. I wanted to try my hand at writing about a character who has a DID-like condition as realistically as possible, but I don't have DID myself and in reality DID doesn't present as a result of adult trauma. I tried to explain clearly in the story itself what happens to this character's mental health as a result of his time with HYDRA, but questions are welcome. I also welcome any suggestions or corrections, especially from any readers who are systems! I will offer content warnings by chapter, but you can comment if you need any extra information. Assume that discussion of DID, a character switching, and brief descriptions of dissociation, will occur throughout the story.
> 
> Content warnings for this chapter: non-specific references to HYDRA torture, discussion of mental health, non-specific mention of suicidal ideation, character misunderstanding of / mild insensitivity about a mental health condition

It’s a windy day in New York, the cloud cover suggesting afternoon flurries, when Natasha heads out to a bar she’s been visiting occasionally in Queens to build one of her new covers. There’s a prickle at the back of her neck, just under the collar of her leather jacket, when she heads down the stairs into the warmth of the subway station, but no one seems to be following. The feeling dissipates for the duration of the ride uptown, but then it’s back as she walks through the station heading for the exit closest to her destination, and she slips behind an unlocked service door, knife at the ready. 

She’s not quite prepared for who follows her inside, though, his hands immediately held up in surrender. 

“Ne dyelaitye mnye bolno,” he mutters, blue-grey eyes a little wild as he looks at her. “Ne khochu vozvraschatsya _ . _ ”  _ Don’t hurt me. I don’t want to go back.  _

She knows her eyes are wide, but she lowers the knife, holding it ready but more relaxed at her side. Steve’s been searching for him, since the helicarriers, but Natasha has had a feeling, confirmed now, that whatever became of the Winter Soldier wouldn’t be coming in until he was ready to do so. 

“Who the hell is Bucky?” she remembers, from Steve’s pained retelling, and quickly thinks of something neutral to call him, something more personal than  _ soldat _ . “Yasha,” she murmurs. “Rad videt vas.” He looks at her a little dubiously, and yeah, last time they saw each other, he unambigiously tried to murder her, but she’s not lying. She is glad to see him, since it’s clearly a different  _ him _ this time. “Mozhete poiti sa mnoi?”  _ Can you follow me? _

He nods, but then hesitates. “Mne nuzhna pomoshch… no yevo ya ne mogu videt.”

“Ponymayu.” She crosses his body, carefully, and leads the way into the light. 

~*~

_ A month later…. _

“Is she going to explain? Why I can’t see him?” Steve asks as the elevator opens to add Natasha and Clint to their motley crew before continuing its journey downward. He’s grumpy, but then that’s become his new status quo, ever since Natasha brought Bucky in. Sam nudges his shoulder, and Natasha rolls her eyes.

“You can’t see him because that’s practically the first thing he asked for when he found me,” Natasha repeats for maybe the hundredth time. “His choice.”

“But it’s been  _ weeks _ !”

Natasha doesn’t dignify that with a response, and the others just give him vaguely sympathetic looks as they shuffle out onto the 39th floor. It’s not where Bucky’s being held, just a generic floor of offices and conference rooms, one of which already holds Bruce, Tony, and a petite woman in a smart blazer with dark skin and very close-cropped hair. The remaining four Avengers take seats around the conference table, and the door automatically locks behind them, soundproofing engaged. 

“JARVIS, no cameras,” Tony says, and then nods to the woman at the head of the table. “Well? We’re all on tenterhooks, doc, might as well get to it.”

“I can imagine,” she replies with a warm smile, folding her hands over the manilla folder on the table in front of her. “But let me at least introduce myself before we begin. My name is Doctor Michelle Adeyemi—I specialize in complex post-traumatic stress disorder, and I have been the primary therapist working daily with Sergeant Barnes for three weeks now, in addition to leading his overall care team.”

“Thank you for meeting with us, Dr. Adeyemi,” Bruce offers, gentle and polite as always. She smiles and then nods to the group of them.

“Of course, I know you are all anxious for a report on your friend. I hope you understand that his case is quite unique, given the duration of the trauma he experienced and the effects of the healing factor on his brain. We’ve confirmed what you suspected—he was given a variant of the serum that enhanced Captain Rogers, which complicates any investigation of his health, given our limited understanding of how his unique physiology might respond to trauma. We might have preferred to give you earlier updates, but the time has been necessary to devise a treatment plan and reach a place where I felt comfortable obtaining his informed consent to share information with you.” 

“Bucky knows you’re talking to us?” Steve leans forward a bit in his chair. 

“Well… the answer to that question is somewhat complicated, as I’ll explain, but I am satisfied with the level of consent my patient was able to give to sharing the details of his condition with you today, such as we know them. I must be frank with all of you. I do not believe that Sergeant Barnes is suffering from a diagnosable mental condition consistent with what we have seen in other survivors of trauma, and I doubt that we will ever be able to understand exactly how his brain has responded to his experiences of torture and brainwashing. The brain is a difficult organ to understand even under relatively normal conditions, and these conditions are in no way normal. But I have been able to make analogies that have led me to a treatment approach, and confirmed my hypotheses through brain scans, as well as consulting with several other professionals that your Stark Industries team has vetted.” 

“All right.” Tony nods. “We’re kind of used to unusual around here, doc, just tell us what you’ve got.” 

“As far as I can theorize… your friend was subjected to extreme torture at the start of his captivity, including electrical stimulation to the brain and classical psychological torture techniques paired with neurolinguistic programming in an attempt to create an obedient asset for HYDRA. We believe, based on the information available from the intelligence community on the first kills attributed to the Winter Soldier alongside the data you released to the public, Agent Romanoff, that this torture must have lasted many years before he was considered an active agent of HYDRA, obedient enough to their commands to act reliably in the field.” Her tone is calm, even, but Steve’s hand curls into a tight fist as she speaks, and Sam watches him warily. 

“Based on his current behavior, his access to memories, and other evidence I’ll explain in a moment, I believe that his mind essentially locked away his original personality, the man you know, Captain, as Bucky Barnes. The extreme stress over time, far beyond what a normal human body could sustain, triggered dissociative amnesia, meaning that the person in HYDRA captivity could not recall any of his life as Bucky Barnes, down to details as basic as his name. This kind of amnesia is possible in a baseline human, and we call it generalized dissociative amnesia or in the case of a new identity being adopted, dissociative fugue, but of course we have no other cases where torture was prolonged for seventy years, accompanied by the extreme brainwashing techniques we know HYDRA used.”

“So… he still doesn’t remember?” Steve asks, looking a little like a kicked puppy. 

“The simplest answer to your direct question, Captain, is no. The man we are treating does not identify as Bucky Barnes, nor does he have accessible memories from the time before his captivity. But the reality of his memory formation and identity is much more complicated than what he does  _ not _ remember. The fact is, I have been essentially working with multiple patients over the last few weeks. It is clear that more than one distinct identity has formed as a result of the trauma.”

“Multiple personality disorder?” Clint asks, raising his eyebrows.

“Dissociative identity disorder,” Bruce corrects mildly, his tone soft as usual. The doctor smiles, but shakes her head a little.

“Technically, DID only forms in children. But yes, Doctor Banner, I do believe that what Sargeant Barnes is experiencing can be most closely analogized to dissociative identity disorder.”

“Sorry, what?” Steve frowns.

“Dissociative identity disorder, or DID, is a condition formed in response to childhood trauma,” she explains. “When a child under the age of seven or so experiences major trauma, he or she is still in the process of forming a personality. In rare cases, the trauma results in the formation of more than one distinct personality within the same person—in other words, a person with DID experiences themselves as a system of separate identities, each of which experience the world differently and may hold different memories. We believe that the brain uses this kind of personality formation as a coping mechanism to segment traumatic memories, though it is much more complicated than that. I would be happy to recommend some literature for you to review after this conversation, but the salient point is that we believe Sergeant Barnes has had a similar experience, and thus I was brought in to lead his care team given my experience in both C-PTSD and DID.”

“So you think a DID split happened in him, even as an adult, because of how extreme the trauma was?” Bruce asks.

“Well, yes, in combination with the fact that his brain had to find ways to respond to something that we’ve simply never been able to study before. Normally, even in cases of extreme trauma, DID can’t occur in adults. Because our personalities are already formed, there’s no way for them to form as separate entities as they do in children with DID.  _ But _ , we believe that in this case, with physical trauma to the brain that would have killed a normal man many times over-”

Steve chokes on an unvoiced sound, and Sam rests a firm hand on his back. 

“-the brain responded remarkably, essentially boxing off the fully-formed personality entirely, so that what was left could develop almost like a child’s brain while the original personality remained frozen in time. I don’t want to infantilize Sergeant Barnes, but this is the best explanation I can come up with, under the circumstances. I have been able to work with the personalities—we call them alters—who retain memories of his time with HYDRA, and based on their reports I believe that he spent most of the time he was not in cryogenic freeze essentially blank, responding to orders, but there were brief periods of confusion and dissociation where his brain was attempting to form the personalities that now exist for him as alters. One of the alters describes these periods as “malfunctions,” and they were routinely suppressed by what he refers to as a wipe—the use of high-voltage electricity to trigger amnesia and make him more susceptible to the use of programmed trigger phrases.”

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” Steve whispers, and the doctor goes silent as Sam rubs his back in slow circles. 

“You wanna take a break, man?” 

Steve doesn’t respond for a minute, then shakes his head, sitting up again in his chair. “I need to hear this. Sorry. Please continue.”

“No need to apologize, Captain,” Dr. Adeyemi rebukes with a kind smile. “I realize this is incredibly difficult for you to hear. Stop me at any time.” Steve nods, and she continues. “My theory, in any event, is that his memory pathways were regularly suppressed from reconstructing themselves, but the serum did enable them to do so eventually, when he escaped from HYDRA. What I can’t be sure of is whether his current alters formed at the time of the initial trauma, or at different times, or whether the exact same alters would have formed if the trauma had been shorter in duration. It’s simply impossible to be sure. It could be that his alters existed over a long period of time in a kind of suspended state, and then memories were assigned to specific alters when they formed later, or that alters did fully form but weren’t able to consciously control Sargeant Barnes’s body until he escaped, or something else we can’t possibly imagine. It is also possible that specific alters formed as a result of specific incidents of torture. But given the unique nature of his case, I don’t believe that coming up with a theory of how it happened is particularly productive—what does matter to his healing is that he experiences life in the present day through the consciousness of multiple alters, and that he came here for help because his experience post-HYDRA was extremely confusing without an understanding of DID or any other possible mental health conditions. The alter that the medical staff initially met, who now identifies himself as ‘Yasha’-”

Natasha inhales sharply, and everyone’s eyes flick to her, but Dr. Adeyemi continues when she doesn’t say anything more. 

“-Yasha arrived to Avengers Tower extremely confused, not understanding his own mental state, and believing that he needed to be locked up for his own safety and the safety of others. He reported experiences of hearing voices and losing time, and we initially believed that he was experiencing a very extreme case of C-PTSD, especially given that the only obvious alter at first was what we would call an “emotional part,” a response that can occur in C-PTSD where the patient severely dissociates but doesn’t form a complete separate personality—in this case, its primary characteristic is a self-destructive tendency.”

“That was when you put him on suicide watch,” Steve says in an very bland tone, obviously masking his emotions.

“Yes. I don’t intend to disturb you any further than necessary, but in that incident the patient woke screaming from a nightmare, begging staff to take his life. We didn’t initially attribute the incident to a DID-like condition, despite the fact that he didn’t recall the incident in later therapy, because dissociation and this kind of ‘persecutor’ emotional part is consistent with C-PTSD. But I was able to come to my current theory over a number of sessions with both Yasha and other alters, based both on the variance in their behavior and on the details they reported of their time here. When I first started working with Yasha, I don’t believe that any other alters came to the front—which is what we call it when a particular alter is conscious, we use the term “fronting.” But when he became more comfortable with me, another alter began to come forward, and I noticed that the patient I was working with spoke differently and described his experiences differently at different times. Sometimes when I asked questions about his time with HYDRA, he would retain memories, and at other times he claimed not to remember and was very vague about having done “bad things” in his past. When we specifically tracked where Sargeant Barnes was losing time in different sessions, a pattern emerged that was inconsistent with a single personality experiencing dissociative PTSD episodes. If I asked questions about the same day in different sessions, he would describe losing the same period of time, but also could sometimes describe in detail a period of time that he would later describe as being lost. That’s when I realized that I was definitely speaking with at least two different alters, which was consistent with the very different nature of speech and mannerisms I’d observed at different times.” 

“Damn.” Tony shakes his head. “It’s like a mystery thriller: human brain edition.”

“Sometimes,” Dr. Adeyemi concedes with a mild smile. “The human brain can be quite mysterious. But Sergeant Barnes’ system, as we call the collection of alters sharing a body, does seem to be progressing much more quickly in his healing now that I’ve been able to develop a theory and share it with both Yasha and the other most frequently appearing alter, who identifies as James.” 

“James?” Steve frowns. “He hated that name.” 

“Bucky hated that name,” Dr. Adeyemi gently corrects. “James took it from a Smithsonian exhibit on the Howling Commandos that he visited when he was at the front shortly after his defection from HYDRA. It seems to fit him as well as any other.” 

Steve frowns. “So… there’s two of him, now? Yasha and James?”

“And that’s not confusing at all,” Clint mutters. The others look at him with some confusion, except for Natasha, who explains.

“Yasha is the closest Russian equivalent to James. I used it for him when I addressed him in Russian. If you speak Russian, it’s like knowing twins named Richard and Ricardo. But there aren’t only two, are there?” she asks, perceptive eyes on the doctor.

“No,” Dr. Adeyemi agrees. “There may be many more. DID systems often comprise dozens of alters, some of whom never ‘front,’ or come out in the external world. And alters often learn to mimic each other, so I can’t be certain how many have come forward in James’ system. Yasha and James are clear. The persecutor alter who triggered the suicide watch is another, though he isn’t coherent and hasn’t named himself. He fronts rarely, generally at night, and tends towards self-harming behaviors, but of course we’ve minimized his opportunities for those behaviors in the clinical environment. There is also a fourth alter, the one who helped me to understand the way what he describes as ‘malfunctions’ are treated. Yasha refers to him as ‘the Asset’ and he fronts rarely, but seems to be the alter who is most similar to Sergeant Barnes under HYDRA, in terms of language and behavior. He responds to direct questions, but doesn’t speak otherwise.”

“You said  _ most _ similar,” Bruce interrupts. “You don’t think that’s the alter that was present when HYDRA used his trigger words?”

“Not exactly. Again, it’s really conjecture when we try to establish what happened during that time, but when referring to the past both the Asset and Yasha refer to the Soldier or Soldat. If that is an alter, he hasn’t emerged that I can tell—but it’s hard to say whether it’s even fair to refer to the mental state under such harsh conditioning as a personality or alter. I believe the Soldier is more of a shorthand for the lack of personality or inability to form a personality that he experienced during those times.”

“Okay. So now what? How do we fix him? Can we bring Bucky back?”

The doctor smiles sadly at Steve, and his stomach drops at her pity. “Captain, I’d encourage you not to think of treatment as a ‘fix’ or a way to reinstate Bucky Barnes. I have to be honest with you—that’s likely impossible. If Bucky does still have the ability to exist consciously in the external world, which we haven’t confirmed, he’s now functioning as an alter within the system equal to any other. I’d conjecture that if he serves any role we can label, it would be as a positive memory-holder, an alter who keeps pre-trauma memories for the system and doesn’t have access to memories of the trauma—which would be a benefit for him of remaining separate from the rest of the system. Therapeutically, I believe that it would be a major ethical violation to attempt to force or even encourage integration of any of the alters I’ve described unless they ask directly for that approach. Of course, there are those in the profession who disagree with me, but we’ve largely moved away from treating DID with a focus on integration, as that kind of therapy can intensely backfire and hasn’t been proven effective. What we  _ can  _ do is focus on helping as many alters as possible to feel safe, and confirming that Sergeant Barnes as an entire system will be safe outside of a clinical setting.”

“Confirming? So you don’t think he’s dangerous,” Natasha surmises, her expression skeptical.

“I think he is absolutely dangerous to anyone who attempts to harm him,” Dr. Adeyemi corrects her. “And we don’t know what the effect would be if trigger words were used on him again, which another specialist will likely need to address at some point when he’s more stable overall. But I don’t believe that he would engage in unprovoked violence. Self-harm is much more likely in cases of DID, and I would like to focus on ways to make his alters feel safe, which would both minimize self-harm and reduce the likelihood of accidentally causing harm to others if he feels threatened. I also wouldn’t recommend focusing on retrieving Bucky’s personality, as we know that the brain created these alters as a trauma response, rather than simply restoring the original personality. It must have done so for a reason, and presumably this is what feels safest for Sergeant Barnes, to the extent that we can describe his condition in those terms.”

“So what’s the treatment plan, then?” Tony asks. “How do we make him feel safe?”

“I’d like to continue to work with his alters in daily therapy. We’re also giving him time in between sessions to relax, if he can, and get used to daily living. I can talk him through the experience of dissociative episodes and what works best for others when dissociating and switching between different alters being at the front. I want to start to work with what we call positive triggers to encourage different alters to work with me, so that we can both get to know them, and have him work with a journal so that the different alters can communicate. They have different levels of awareness of the system, but that may develop over time, and journaling is a technique that works for many systems with DID. Of course, we will also need to eventually talk more about his experiences so that your legal team can come up with an approach, Mr. Stark, and so that I can make recommendations on how his alters might handle legal proceedings. Talking about what happened may also help us to identify ways to make him feel safer in a non-clinical environment.”

“Yasha, at least, has been very clear that he doesn’t want to meet anyone outside of his medical team yet, but eventually that will be the goal. So I will want to work with him to catch him up gradually on the outside world, and I want all of you to review some resources on DID in loved ones, keeping in mind that it may be months before he’s ready to live independently or be in regular contact with your team. We want to give his alters time to make themselves known, and give the system time to adjust to his new reality. At that point, though, I believe living among the Avengers would be safe for him, especially as you are all accustomed to avoiding clear PTSD triggers and are physically equipped to handle a violent episode if one does occur.”

“All right.” Tony frowns. “JARVIS, you’ll distribute those materials to the Avengers?”

“Yes, of course. Doctor, I would be happy to compile any resources you recommend at any time.”

“Thank you, JARVIS. I believe that’s all I have for you today, but I’ll be in touch when I have another update.”

The team all mumble their assent, and she strides out of the room, carrying the folder she hadn’t referenced once against her chest. Everyone gradually turns to Steve, who’s staring blankly at the ground. 

“Hey man. We’re gonna get through this,” Sam offers gently, returning his hand to Steve’s back. 

“Yeah, all of us except for Bucky, who’s apparently stuck inside his own brain.” 

“Maybe,” Sam agrees. “But it sounds like he feels safe there, yeah? Probably doesn’t even have any of the trauma the rest of the alters do, from what it sounds like. That could be good.”

“But it was  _ him _ ,” Steve murmurs, sounding dejected. “On the Helicarrier, he knew me. It sounds like...none of the rest of them existed, before. So how could they have known me?”

“That way lies crazy,” Natasha warns. “C’mon, Steve. You can’t keep thinking about that, not when it might be months before you see  _ any _ of them. You’ve gotta let it go.” 

“Right,” Steve lets out a hollow laugh. “Let it go.”

“Easier said than done,” Tony concedes, pushing to his feet and clapping his hands together. “C’mon Avengers. Let’s disassemble.” 

“Pizza?” Clint suggests.

“Pizza.”

~*~

“Look at it this way,” Sam suggests, gesturing vaguely with a cheesy slice. “Like she said, we know how to handle PTSD. We pretty much all have it, right?”

“Hey now,” Tony objects. “First rule of PTSD, we don’t talk about PTSD.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Yeah, keep believing that, buddy. Point is, it’s not a bad bunch of people to deal with dissociation around. I’ve read a little bit about DID, it sounds a lot like primary structural dissociation.”

“Which is, for the kids in the back?” Clint asks.

“Freaking the fuck out.”

“Ah. I know that one.”

“Specifically, the kind of freaking the fuck out where you don’t know where you are, where you go full flashback or hypervigilant or whatever, where you lose time. I haven’t had that experience myself, but I’ve worked with a lot of guys… I think DID’s like that, it’s just that instead of going fight-or-flight on steroids, you switch personalities.”

“Huh. Sounds better,” Clint responds before stuffing half a slice of pepperoni into his face.

“I don’t know if it’s  _ better _ . I think switching kind of sucks, too. But my point is, none of us is gonna freak out and get angry if another member of the team has a dissociative episode. We all know protocol for flashbacks. So maybe it’s not so different.”

“Hell, we know protocol for the  _ Hulk _ ,” Tony adds, and Bruce only glares at him a little.

“Tony,” Steve chides on autopilot.

“What? It’s true. This Tower is a safe space for crazy. No offense to the other guy.” 

“Thanks, Tony,” Bruce says with a long-suffering kind of expression.

“I wish you wouldn’t call your teammates  _ crazy _ ,” Steve objects. “Not all of us even have PTSD.”

“Uh huh. De _ nial _ ,” Tony coughs behind his hand, and Clint wings a mushroom slice at him.

“First rule of denial, we don’t talk about denial.”

“Yeah, all right bird-brain. I’ll drink to that.”

Steve, for his part, remains silent.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As treatment and recovery progress, James gets to know some of the Avengers and Steve is still... confused.

Two months later, they’re gathered in the same high-end conference room, Dr. Adeyemi at the head of the table, no folder this time. Steve looks even more exhausted than he did the first time they met, but it’s no surprise the way he’s been running himself ragged with missions to exterminate whatever of HYDRA remains. The whole team’s a little run down, except for Bruce, maybe, who sits in his usual calm exterior state.

“Thank you for meeting me. I want to start by letting you know that both Yasha and James have specifically consented on behalf of the system to this meeting, and to what I’m about to tell you. There may be other alters that we don’t yet know about, or that they aren’t telling me about, but for now I feel comfortable proceding with their consent. Did you all have a chance to review some of the materials I sent over through JARVIS?”

Nods around the table, and a smirky press grin from Tony. “Do I get points for doing my homework, doc?”

“Only the joy of understanding, Dr. Stark,” she responds without missing a beat. He’s impressed that she uses his proper title, though. That’s rare enough that it earns her a little extra mark of respect in his book. “So you all know that alters tend to have different roles in the system, that they may experience themselves as very different from the body in the inner world, and there can be a kind of dysphoria when an alter is very different from the body, for example in terms of gender. So far, none of the alters I’ve worked with have been very specific about their inner world conceptions of themselves, nor have they reported dysphoria, but I want to confirm before we start that you all understand the best practice is to treat each alter as an individual person, not as a ‘version.’ I’ve been referring to the system as a whole as Sergeant Barnes, but in fact Sergeant Barnes is a set of different people, for all intents and purposes. The alters have different food and clothing preferences, speak differently, and have different views on the world.”

“I think we’ve got that,” Sam agrees. “We’ve talked about it, as a team.”

“Good. So as you know, I’ve worked with a few different alters. There’s also one more that I haven’t mentioned yet, and I’ll explain his function today. First, though…. you’ve likely read about the concept of a ‘host’ alter. When I first started working with the system, I had identified Yasha as a potential host, but I’ve noticed that as Yasha gets more accustomed to the routine of life here and feels safer, James is fronting more and more. I believe James may in fact be the host, as he’s now present approximately 60-75% of the time.”

“Tell us about him?” Sam requests.

Dr. Adeyemi smiles. “He’s quite affable, very charming. I believe he also serves the role of emotional protector for the system, as he’s the most socially adept and would be most able to stay calm and defuse any emotional threats. He’s the most comfortable spending time talking with me, and asks about my life outside of his treatment with genuine curiosity. As I described before, he doesn’t know the details of his time with HYDRA, and we don’t discuss those details when he’s at the front. He’s somewhat distressed, having only thus far experienced life as a fugitive and as an in-patient, and was very confused at first as he experienced the clinical setting as having been brought in rather than having turned himself in, but he has a generally positive outlook. He’s curious about the world and wants to better understand himself. When he’s not in session, he often reads, and he’s interested in world history.”

“...redacted, I hope,” Tony mutters under his breath. 

“I believe that James benefits greatly from the segmenting of memories into other alters, as he’s much better adjusted than a trauma survivor would be without DID. He’s aware that he was held in captivity and forced to perpetrate crimes, and that he was a soldier before that, but he experiences those facts at a remove and has no emotional connection to them. When he does relate to the past, it’s more with sadness as if relating empathetically to a friend, or with anger at what he believes a separate person has done with his body. He’s very present- and future-oriented, and his outlook is that he wants this all to go away. I believe he would like to simply integrate the other alters into himself and be in charge of the body full time, or even ‘erase’ them if he could, but through our work together he’s starting to respect the other alters in his system and understand their roles, as well as why attempting integration might be traumatic in addition to being specifically against Yasha’s wishes. Although it’s difficult to fully absorb the idea that his own perspective is limited, he understands it intellectually and benefits from reading what other alters have written. He’s eager to meet more people outside the medical team-” 

Steve leans forward eagerly in his seat, his eyes lighting up.

“-but has specifically requested not to start with Captain Rogers. I’m sorry, Captain. I believe he has enough awareness of the other alters to be aware that the experience may be more emotionally distressing than the alternatives.”

“But I’m Bucky’s best friend! How is that distressing?”

“Familiarity can be difficult, without memories,” she explains. “While James has no specific knowledge of you, you’re obviously significant to another part of the system, and that may trigger dissociation. I believe he knows secondhand, likely through subconscious sharing between alters, that encountering you was distressing and disruptive for the Soldier, and he can’t predict the result of a meeting. Beyond that, Yasha is extremely protective of James, and I don’t believe he would allow it, either.”

“So Yasha’s a protector?” Natasha asks when Steve just puts his head in his hands, dejected.

“That’s right. I believe Yasha fills the role of the primary protector in the system, and specifically a physical protector. When the system detects a physical threat, Yasha switches to the front very quickly. He’s proud of his role, and views himself as critical to the health and safety of the system—again, he’s opposed to the idea of integration for that reason, and he doesn’t want James or Bucky to have to experience trauma. He is responsible for most physical altercations, and was likely at the front most of the time while on the run as he needed to engage with HYDRA operatives and be hyper-alert for unexpected threats.”

“So he’s more chill, now that he’s safe?” Clint asks.

“Well, it’s rare for a trauma survivor to ever feel completely safe. But yes, I do believe that evidence of physical safety within the clinical environment has convinced Yasha to allow James to take the front more often, and has also made him more confident when he is fronting, as opposed to the stress and confusion he was under when he first contacted Agent Romanov. He doesn’t have a strong interest in the world around him, or in developing his own interests, as far as I’ve seen, beyond carrying out his role. As protector, Yasha also seems to have greater access to the system as a whole. These days, now that he understands his mental state, he rarely loses time, and often is co-conscious with James, acting as a ‘voice in his head’ or a warning watching out for threats. Others with DID describe the experience of being co-conscious as “watching through a window” into the external world, and we’ve worked through therapy on helping all the alters to be comfortable with this experience, as it can be rather jarring if you’re not expecting it. I believe that he’s able to protect other alters internally, as well—Captain, Yasha has specifically been very clear that Bucky still exists, but isn’t going to come to the front. I know this is upsetting for you, but I’d suggest preparing yourself for that reality, as Yasha may be most protective of Bucky over all the alters in his system.”

Steve frowns, looking up from his hands again. “All right. Is he okay, though? Did Yasha say?”

Dr. Adeyemi smiles and shakes her head. “He hasn’t given me many details about Bucky, but given the nature of the split, I have no reason to believe that Bucky isn’t blissfully ignorant within Sergeant Barnes’ internal world.”

Despite not feeling wholly satisfied, Steve nods for her to continue.

“I haven’t probed Yasha to give me more information about other alters than he feels comfortable with, as I’m certain that would be counterproductive to therapy. As primary protector, it’s very important that Yasha trusts me to have a useful therapeutic relationship. He has mentioned the Asset, who has continued to come out very occasionally in response to triggers, but we haven’t narrowed down the exact set of triggers nor the Asset’s specific role in the system. We need to accept the possibility that the Asset could be loyal to HYDRA, and that he may harm others if he believes that he’s protecting the system, but any progress on that front is likely to be extremely gradual. It’s also possible that there fragments in the system holding specific traumas, other alters that could be violent, but again, I would stress that it is very uncommon for alters to be intentionally violent towards others. Even those who empathize or identify with the persecutor tend to only be harmful towards the body itself.”

“Oh, cause that’s soothing,” Clint mutters.

“It isn’t meant to be, Mr. Barton. We need to be realistic about the situation, but I believe we can do that while retaining empathy for Sergeant Barnes. In any event, there is one more alter I’ve been working with, whom I’d like to describe to you. I didn’t mention him in our last conversation, because I wanted to obtain specific consent to do so. But particularly in the context of legal proceedings, he’s likely to switch out, and you should be prepared for that.”

“Okay.” Tony looks slightly wary, but nods. “Lay it on us.”

“He goes by Winter. Zima, technically, but he doesn’t mind ‘Winter’ in English. His English is slower, and takes more effort, so he mainly speaks Russian or German and JARVIS translates for me. By contrast, both James and Yasha are multilingual but speak English comfortably with a generic American accent. Winter has very little awareness of the rest of the system, and experiences life as brief periods of awareness, followed by losing time, but he doesn’t seem overly upset by it. He mainly exists as a trauma-holder—Winter retains the memories of abuse and torture under HYDRA, which even Yasha doesn’t have access to, though he can recall his missions.”

“Jesus,” Sam mutters. “Hell of a life.”

“It certainly isn’t easy,” Dr. Adeyemi concedes. “We’ve been working through his memories in therapy, but any healing will take years, and I’d recommend that Winter consider working with a separate therapist from the rest of the system, if possible, just to have that privacy, to the extent that it’s possible in a system. If you meet him, you’ll notice that he’s very quiet, quite reserved. He has some specific compulsions, particularly around the need to organize and categorize, which I believe he engages in as self-soothing behaviors. I’ve encouraged this, as they aren’t in any way harmful. Since his memories are the most relevant to making a case for Sergeant Barnes’ experience as a POW, I have made some recordings of Winter’s voice with his consent, through JARVIS, who assures me these recordings are secure.”

“That’s an understatement,” Tony agrees.

“As you know, my general notes are on paper and kept locked in Sergeant Barnes’ own suite for maximum security, requiring biometrics from both of us to access, but I believe these audio recordings could be vital to any legal proceedings, and I’m not certain that you’ll be able to access Winter live in such a proceeding, nor that such a course of action is advisable.” 

“Let’s maybe not put the cart before the horse,” Sam suggests. “I’m sure that’s a whole long conversation all on its own.”

“Indeed. In any event, all of the alters are communicating regularly in their shared journal, and I have been impressed with their recovery and ability to adjust to the situation. I do believe that it would be safe for James to meet a member of the team, as requested, under controlled conditions.” 

“But not me.”

“Yes. I’m sorry, Captain Rogers.”

“So who wants to volunteer?” Tony asks. “Does he know who we are, even?”

“I’ve given brief descriptions of the team and its work to James. He is mostly amazed by the state of the world as I’ve described it.” 

Sam grins. “Don’t blame the man.” 

“What about Bruce?” Natasha suggests. “He’d be the safest if an incident  _ did _ happen…”

“...and he’s calming as fuck,” Clint adds with a grin. “I vote yes.”

Bruce rolls his eyes. “I’m willing, if that’s what the rest of the team wants.”

“Good call,” Tony agrees.

“Sure,” Sam says. “Steve?”

Reluctantly, he nods. “I think you’re a good first choice. Then Sam, maybe.” 

“All right. I’ll make arrangements with you directly, Dr. Banner.”

“How long do you think it will be?” Steve asks. “Until we can start thinking about integration? You said James wants it, right?”

“That was his initial preference,” she agrees. “But it’s the choice of the entire system, Captain, and the answer might be ‘never.’ You should keep in mind, in addition, that James isn’t Bucky. Even if the system were to somehow fully integrate, which again, is extremely rare and not medically advised in DID cases… the end result wouldn’t be getting your friend back.” She gives him a sympathetic smile. “I understand that this is extremely difficult for you. I can recommend a vetted colleague to help process your emotions on the matter, if you’d like.”

“No,” Steve shakes his head. “I’m fine.” 

The entire room pretty much sighs as a unit, at that, but no one says anything. 

“I just want him to be happy,” Steve pouts, talking to the table. Sam raises an eyebrow and stares at him until he looks up.

“Who, exactly?” he asks, and Steve doesn’t have an answer to that.

~*~

Despite all the background reading, it’s still a bit surreal when Bruce walks into the specially-appointed apartment in the secure suite designated for Barnes’ treatment and finds a man on the sofa, dressed in a soft grey sweater and blue jeans with bare feet, smiling cheerfully at him.

“Hey, come on in. Thanks for stopping by. Doctor Banner, right?”

“Bruce. You can call me Bruce,” he offers, stepping further into the room and shaking the offered hand before sitting down next to James on the sofa, a few inches of space between them.

“Call me James, then. I heard you like tea,” he offers, gesturing to the two cups on the coffee table, and Bruce nods graciously.

“I do. Thank you.” He’s quiet as James pours green tea from the white ceramic pot, and isn’t really sure what to say next, but James rescues him.

“I know this is kind of weird. You don’t know me, but I appreciate you doing this.”

“It’s not a problem,” Bruce smiles. “I don’t know you, but I know a thing or two about amnesia and being different people in the same brain,” he admits.

“Yeah,” James smiles. “Dr. Adeyemi told me about that. I don’t really understand it, though. It has to do with… radiation?”

“Gamma radiation, yeah,” Bruce takes a sip of his tea. “It’s extremely complicated, but the result is… maybe a little bit like your alters. Sort of. Not really.” He smiles apologetically. “I don’t remember a thing. But sometimes he’s… around. In the background. I wish he wasn’t.”

“Yeah,” James nods. “Yasha is like that, sometimes. I don’t mind, though. And sometimes the Asset gives… system reports. It’s weird.”

“Huh.”

“I don’t… physically change, obviously. But Yasha makes use of this, I gather,” he says, wiggling his metal fingers. “I kind of wish I could control him, or… hold him back, at least.”

“Well, we have that in common. I’m always… afraid of the body count, when I wake up.”

“Yeah.” James frowns. “I think I started really… existing, or whatever, on the run. And sometimes I’d be there, and then I’d look down, and I’d be covered in someone else’s blood. Like, what the hell?”

“That’s horrifying. I’m sorry.”

James smiles. “I kind of knew. Or at least… I knew I was running away from something, that I couldn’t remember, that I couldn’t get caught. But it was so creepy. I started checking newspapers, and sometimes I’d lose a whole week. And I wasn’t sure if I was the villain, or the victim. I’d try to turn myself in, sometimes, and then everything would just… fade. I guess that was Yasha, stopping me.”

“I lost two weeks once. Woke up in the woods somewhere. Usually it’s shorter, but that…” Bruce shudders. “Sorry, I… actually, I don’t think I can talk about it.”

“That’s okay,” James says calmly, putting a comforting hand on Bruce’s knee. “I’ve got a shrink for that. I didn’t ask you here to talk about the Hulk, honest. I just… thought it’d be nice to meet some of the team. Dr. Adeyemi says I’ll probably be living with you guys, once I get out of here, so… might as well start now.” 

James’s smile is terribly charming, and Bruce feels his cheeks heat. “Sure. Uh, not sure what you know, or want to…”

“I know you’re a scientist. A really smart scientist. And I know about your split. But not much else. Tell me?”

“Okay. Well, I’m a nuclear physicist, specifically. But I work with Tony on all kinds of things—Tony Stark, I mean, who owns this building. We work together for the Avengers, and then I do my own projects. I have some medical skills, but more ad-hoc… I used to help people out, sometimes, in places where they needed doctors and didn’t care much about qualifications. My main specialty was gamma radiation, but I’ve branched out again since the incident. No one really wants to publish my papers anymore, so I can do what I want, mostly… I mean, with Tony’s funding.” He smiles sheepishly. “I guess he doesn’t care if I just want to play, so that’s what I do. It’s kind of like my doctoral research, I just kept following rabbit holes… right now it’s clean energy, following up on Tony’s arc reactor technology. But he’s published some other stuff for me, too, under his name. Nobody really blinks at the idea of Tony Stark teaching himself nuclear physics.” He knows his smile is overly fond, and he can’t help it. “Some of my work is highly theoretical, these days, but since the Einstein-Rosen bridge the line between theoretical and…”

“Hey.” James cuts him off, gently touching his knee again. “That’s great and all, but I have no idea what it means. I’d really like to know more about Bruce, not Doctor Banner.”

“Oh,” Bruce stares at his cup for a moment, at a loss for words, scrubbing his hand through his hair as he thinks. “Well… there’s not  _ that _ much to say,” he admits. “I’m pretty much all science, all the time.”

“I don’t believe that,” James teases. “You must have other interests. You’re an Avenger, right?”

“Mostly for the science. And the green rage monster,” Bruce admits.

“What do you do with the team, when you’re not working?”

“I cook for them, sometimes,” Bruce shrugs. “But not everyone likes vegetarian. We do movie nights. I like sci-fi, sort of, but the details are infuriating.”

James smiles and sips his tea. “You’ll have to give me some recommendations. I have a lot of catching up to do. Where were you born?”

“Ohio, but can we put a cap on any early childhood talk, please?”

“Sure,” James agrees gently. His eyes are intelligent, but he doesn’t pry, which is all Bruce can hope for. “Are you a vegetarian because of animals, or…?”

“Partly. Partly the environmental impact.” Bruce shrugs. “I started moderating most things, after the incident. I don’t drink alcohol or much more caffeine than this. I started practicing Buddhism, and vegetarianism came along with it. There’s something called  _ ahisma _ —avoiding harm and violence, basically. I can’t do anything about the other guy’s destruction, but in this form…”

“That makes sense. I don’t really want to hurt anyone, either. Though I guess I would, if they deserved it.” He frowns a little. “I think I’m a sniper.”

“You were,” Bruce agrees. “I mean… sorry, I don’t want to screw the terminology up, but… your body is very good at shooting things from a distance, I’ll put it that way.”

James laughs. “I know a lot of details about how to clean and disassemble guns, and I can do math in my head on windspeed and trajectories… I don’t know if everyone in here can, but I’ve still got that. Seriously… don’t worry about the terminology. I mean I only half-know it, myself. It’s all pretty fucking weird.”

Bruce can’t help but laugh, feeling comfortable with James. “Yeah,” he agrees. “It’s… something.”

~*~

After Bruce has visited three times, Sam gets nominated to come by next. From what Bruce has shared, he’s really not worried about it, but it’s a surprise when the relaxed, calm-looking figure on the sofa catches his eye as he enters the room and then suddenly blinks, looking physically stuck for a moment, before he re-focuses his gaze intensely on Sam.

For his part, Sam freezes, holding his hands up slowly. “You’re… not James, are you?”

“No.”

“Yasha?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Do you… want me to go?”

“No.” Yasha stands, slowly, and Sam does not move a goddamned muscle. Yasha stares at him for a long moment before speaking again. “I know you. You have wings. The Soldier tried to kill you.”

“Uh… yeah. That’s me. No hard feelings.”

Yasha cocks his head slowly to the side, like Sam is a mildly interesting insect that he’d like to either dissect or crush. “I don’t intend to kill you now.”

“Uh… thanks, man. I appreciate it?”

“You came to speak with James.”

“Yeah, but it’s okay. I can come back at another time.” 

“Sit.” Warily, Sam moves forward, lowering his hands very slowly, and sits in an armchair. Yasha returns to the sofa. “Do you know why I am here?”

“Uh… I’m guessing you recognized me, somehow.”

Yasha nods. “I have the Soldier’s memories of missions.”

“And that triggered a switch. Threat assessment?” Sam asks, a bit nervous.

Yasha nods again. “You are harmless. But I can’t call James back at will.”

“Like to think I’m a little more than  _ harmless _ …” Sam mutters. Yasha looks unimpressed. “That’s fine, though, I can meet him another time. Sorry I, uh… forced you out.”

Yasha doesn’t reply. They sit there for several long minutes, Yasha staring at Sam and Sam awkwardly shifting his gaze around and trying not to fidget. “Would you like to leave?” Yasha finally asks.

“Uh… I mean, I don’t mind staying. But I’m not sure we’ve got much to talk about.” 

Yasha gives him that unimpressed look again. “Go.”

Sam, relieved, does.

~*~

An hour later James asks Sam, through JARVIS, to return.

“I’m sorry. I’m sure that was super awkward for you,” James offers as they shake hands.

“I mean… it was weird, I’m not gonna lie. But I get it. I didn’t think about the fact that seeing me might trigger him.”

“It’s hard to predict,” James explains as they sit. “Sometimes people are a trigger, apparently. Scents, music… we’re working on figuring out things we can use if we  _ want _ someone to come out, but it’s not always reliable. I like indie rock,” he offers.

“Huh. Not really my jam, but you should talk to Clint.”

“I’d like to,” James smiles. “I’m looking forward to meeting everyone on the team.”

_ Except Steve _ , Sam thinks but doesn’t say, because speaking of triggers, well. “Does JARVIS have you signed up for Spotify?”

“Yeah. The Internet is amazing,” James grins. “I have YouTube, too, and Pinterest.”

“Pinterest?” Sam can’t quite see the once-assassin going through pictures of wedding dresses and DIY crafts, but James just nods enthusiastically.

“It’s amazing. There are so many cool fashion ideas on there, like trends, but avant-garde stuff, too, and people just pinning photos of their outfits.”

“Huh. Fashion. That’s an interest of yours?”

“I think so. I like the pictures. I don’t have many clothes of my own, but…” He shrugs. 

“Well that’s no good. If the doc’s okay with it, I’m sure Tony would be fine with you purchasing a wardrobe.”

“Oh.. well… I don’t really have money,” James admits.

“Psh, dude, do not even worry about that. Tony’s richer than God. I’m serious. I used to have hang-ups about spending his money, but he honestly enjoys it. It’ll make him happy to outfit you. Right, JARVIS?”

“Indeed, Sir would be pleased to purchase anything you desire that your medical team does not flag as contraindicated.”

“Huh. Well that’s dangerous.” James smirks at Sam, and he grins back. If the most dangerous idea this guy can come up with these days is a  _ shopping spree _ , well hell, Sam will take it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The alters get to better understand themselves, the system, and the others on the team. Also Tony gets involved, which generally spells trouble.

“They’re talking about clearing me,” Yasha says, without preamble, as soon as Natasha enters the room. Her body is loose, relaxed— _ ready _ , more accurately. While Yasha may not be the Soldier, and isn’t even the Asset, the least predictable alter, he’s still dangerous. That, Natasha can feel in her bones. 

“Yes. Got any feelings about that?” She doesn’t sit, leans against a wall instead. He’s standing, and it makes her more comfortable. She’s one of the few of them who hasn’t met James—Steve, of course, and Tony, because nobody suggests traumatized people meet  _ Tony _ first—but also one of the only ones who  _ has _ met Yasha. She remembers his wary, alert eyes, the way he slipped into the scenery as he followed her back to the Tower that first time.

Now, Yasha shrugs. “James wants out. He’s made… friends.” The word is foreign on Yasha’s tongue, obviously. She just nods. 

“Yeah. He and Clint are sharing Spotify playlists,” she observes mildly. Probably unlikely Yasha knows what Spotify is. “What do you need from me?” Might as well be direct. Neither of them are the type to beat around the bush. 

“I need to know if it’s safe. The rest of the Tower.”

“For you?”

“For all of us.”

She nods. That’s probably a different question. They know that James can shoot and Yasha’s made to fight, but nobody other than Dr. Adeyemi has met Winter, and that’s to say nothing of  _ Bucky _ . “The top fifteen floors are basically impenetrable by brute force,” she says, slipping into analysis and report mode. “Of course, there’s always social engineering, but the security is tight. You’d have to take time building a cover to get up there, mainly because those are living floors and Tony and Bruce’s work space, so there aren’t many reasons for other people to be there. Other than the Avengers, only Tony’s closest couple of friends have access. Even the cleaning and delivery are done by robots. Stark’s paranoia will benefit you, in this case. Avengers business happens on the floors just below, plus medical. Other than having this floor locked down because of you, most of the others are office space, guest apartments, secure but not  _ that _ secure. Other than R&D and Tony’s private garage.”

“What about the team? Can we trust them?”

She raises her eyebrows. “Do you trust  _ me _ ?” I don’t trust  _ you  _ is implied.

“No.”

That’s fair. She nods and considers. “Sam wouldn’t hurt a fly, except in self-defense. Unless one of you attacks him, you’re safe, and even then, you could take him out. Bruce, same story, but if you attack  _ him _ , you’re  _ not  _ safe, for obvious reasons. You know about the Hulk?” Yasha nods. “Okay. If you don’t trust me, maybe you wouldn’t trust Clint, but he’s not going to do anything to you. He might get nosy, but that’s about it. He’d never sell you out, or anything like that. Steve…” She pauses longer this time, considering. “Steve is complicated.”

“Because of Bucky.”

“Because of Bucky. He loves Bucky. They were more than just best friends. He’d let the world burn for Bucky. So he’s not going to do anything to any of you that could harm Bucky, but… it depends on how you define safety. Emotionally? He might bring Bucky up. He might ask for him. He knows he’s not supposed to, but…”

Yasha waves a hand dismissively. “I can handle that. Would he turn me over to the authorities? If he thought it was best for Bucky?”

Natasha snorts. “No way. Steve trusts authority a whole lot less than authority thinks. The most dangerous thing about him is those goddamned puppy dog eyes.”

Yasha just stares at her.

“Anyway. That brings the full-time residents down to Tony. Tony’s… kind of a disaster, sometimes. He forgets to eat and sleep, and he’s maybe smarter than Bruce, which is saying something. I think most people would classify him as the greatest threat in the Tower.”

“You wouldn’t?”

She shrugs. “He protects his people. He’s incredibly generous, but he doesn’t want people to notice. I think he’s already lumped all of you in as ‘family,’ which he doesn’t do lightly, but does do surprisingly quickly. Sometimes,” she amends, thinking of their own checkered history. “He’s been hurt by betrayal, maybe worse than any of us. He might be the most likely to go full rogue if he thought it would keep a member of the team from getting hurt. He also has a hell of a mask, so he may or may not be openly warm for a while. That’s just how he is. He’ll create better gear for you and upgrade your arm if you let him at it and he’ll buy ridiculous things for you and pretend he didn’t… If you try to hurt any of the rest of us, then he’ll stop you, but he’ll minimize the damage. He’s very aware of how much damage he’s caused in the past.”

Yasha’s silent for a long moment, then nods. “Can you sleep, here?”

She exhales slowly, and answers honestly. “Some nights.”

He meets her eyes. “Thank you.”

She can’t help but smirk. “Well, anytime you need a threat assessment, I’m your girl.”

“Not only that,” he corrects, his tone just a hair softer. “You gave me a name.”

And that alone, Natasha thinks, will probably stick with her longer than anything else Yasha could say. She nods, shared history thick between them, and slips out of the room.

~*~

Bruce and James are playing chess in James’ apartment on the clinical floor, a Bright Eyes album playing softly in the background. James is only just learning the rules, so the games are short, but he gets better every few rounds, watching how Bruce strategizes. 

“They’re letting me go soon. To live with you guys,” James comments as he shifts a pawn.

“I heard.” Bruce’s smile is warm. “It’ll be good to have you around.”

“Yasha invited Natasha down. He wanted to know whether he could trust all of you.”

Bruce frowns a little, but it’s not surprising. “I guess that’s… fair. You haven’t met Natasha yet, have you?”

James shakes his head. “I’ve heard stories from Clint.”

“I bet,” Bruce snorts, moving his bishop.

“Doesn’t really matter, anyway. He doesn’t trust  _ me _ , and I live inside his own body.”

“No?” Bruce frowns sympathetically. “Do you know why not?”

“Because I’d get rid of him, if I had my way,” James admits. “He’s surly and I’m afraid he’ll piss off people I like if he comes out. He doesn’t exactly ask nicely to switch, and switching  _ hurts _ . It makes me tired and it’s confusing and shitty and sometimes I get headaches before the serum kicks in.”

“Well… I think he does it because he’s trying to protect you, if that’s any consolation.”

“Not really. I’m not some kind of helpless idiot.” James sighs, picking up his mug and taking a sip of tea. “Don’t you ever just want to get rid of it all? The other guy, all of that?”

“Sure,” Bruce agrees easily. “But it’s impossible. Believe me, I spent long enough in denial, trying to find a solution… I’m stuck with him and he’s stuck with me. And I know you  _ might  _ not be, but… I’m fairly certain that if you make getting rid of him the goal, he’s not going anywhere.”

“Just to be stubborn?” James snickers. “I know getting rid of them isn’t really the point. I’m trying to believe it. But some days, it just seems like it would be easier, not to have to deal with it.”

“Yeah. Believe me, I get it.” Bruce reaches across the board, not to grab a piece, but to rest his hand over James’, squeezing lightly. James turns his hand, lacing their fingers together.

“I’m glad you come see me,” James murmurs. “It makes it easier.”

Bruce smiles. “I’m glad, too.”

~*~

Yasha requests Sam to escort him upstairs, to his new apartment. It makes sense—Yasha also knows Natasha, but he doesn’t  _ like _ her, and he considers Sam harmless. Sam also understands why James isn’t around, given the planned change of scenery, though he’s gotten to enjoy James’ company and he can’t quite say the same of Yasha. He’s silent as they take the elevator up to the floor Yasha will be sharing with Bruce, only nodding when Sam points out Bruce’s apartment door and then shows him how to use his own biometric scanner. 

Yasha doesn’t speak for the grand tour either, but he’s pretty obviously scanning the perimeter, doing physical checks throughout the space. Sam doesn’t doubt he’ll do more when Sam leaves. He shows Yasha how to operate the fancy appliances if he doesn’t want to use JARVIS, and the rather fully stocked closet that Sam thinks Tony probably sourced from James’  _ Pinterest _ , which almost makes him laugh out loud. There are other clothes, though, mostly black, a few leather jackets, that seem more Yasha’s style, and several pairs of heavy boots. He doesn’t comment. He explains the surveillance—monitored by JARVIS, only accessible by the other Avengers in case of emergency—and the options for limiting or granting access to the apartment. 

“All right, well, that’s pretty much it, man. You can order food and anything else you need through JARVIS. Do you want to see the common area, gym…?”

“No,” Yasha cuts him off. “Will Steve be available in one hour?”

Sam’s pretty sure his eyebrows  _ shoot _ up. “For you, man, yeah he will be.”

Yasha nods. “I would like to see him here,” he says, and Sam takes the dismissal for what it is.

~*~

“James wants to meet you,” Yasha says when Steve steps inside the apartment. He pauses, looking around, and then spots Yasha standing in a corner, scowling. He’s not totally sure why, as Steve hasn’t met any of the alters yet, let alone given them a reason to dislike him. He recalls what Dr. Adeyemi said about Yasha being protective of Bucky, and just the  _ idea  _ of Bucky needing protection from  _ him  _ makes Steve want to punch Yasha in the face. Another part of him wants to march right up to the man, kiss him on the mouth, and try to force out the person he loves more than life itself, but he told Natasha he doesn’t have a deathwish and doesn’t really want to get called on his bullshit today.

“You’re… obviously not James,” is what Steve says, after a long pause. Yasha looks at him like he’s stupid. 

“You don’t want James,” he counters. “You want Bucky.” 

Steve shrugs. He’s not going to deny it. That would be pointless.

“James doesn’t want me here. He wanted to be the first to meet you, but I don’t trust you. I’m not your friend. And I know all you want is Bucky.”

“Am I supposed to say I don’t?” Steve crosses his arms, feeling his rebellious streak rise up at this man who is so obviously  _ not _ Bucky, stealing Bucky’s body. 

“No. But James won’t understand. He wants to meet you, and  _ you _ need to understand that he’s not Bucky.” 

“I get that. Everyone’s explained that at least a thousand times.”

“And you’re still looking at me like you either want to knock me out or suck my dick and you can’t decide which,” Yasha replies blandly. “And I’m not even the nice one.”

“Jesus Christ. What are you, Natasha?”

“Don’t expect friendliness from me. I’ll let James meet you when I believe you’re not going to take advantage of his good nature.” 

Steve growls. “Ask literally  _ anyone _ how often I take advantage of other people, seriously. I’m not the enemy here!”

“Am I?” Yasha asks calmly, unamused. 

“You’re not supposed to be!” Steve exclaims in frustration. “But I don’t know what you want from me.” 

“That makes two of us,” Yasha agrees in that same mild tone, and Steve gives up, turning on his heel with vague plans to go punch something.

~*~

Tony is aware of the Barnes System’s relocation (he likes calling it that in his head, like some sort of a planetary cluster), of course he is. And he knows that he gave JARVIS the go-ahead to extend Barnes Avenger-level access, which includes his lab and workshop space when he’s present and not on lockdown. But he still wasn’t expecting to see the man so soon, the evening of his transfer. 

And there is no doubt as to which alter Tony’s meeting, as Yasha strides into the room like he owns the place, dressed in black down to the heavy combat boots, then stops a few feet away from Tony’s workstation and gives him the world’s most obvious up and down  _ look _ from top to toes. Tony isn’t even sure of the last time he  _ showered _ , and he suddenly feels woefully inadequate.

“Well hello, tall dark and murdery.”

“Tony Stark.” Yasha’s voice is deep, a little gravely, and doing inappropriate things to Tony’s insides. Pepper was right. He really could spring wood over anything that moved, if it looked at him the right way. 

“At your service. Yasha, I presume.” Tony offers his hand, and the shake is firm but not crushing. After letting go, Yasha doesn’t step back to give Tony extra personal space, but nor does he look imminently murdery. 

“Yes.” Yasha glances at the hologram Tony had paused in the middle of, his eyes tracking wildly as if trying to take all of the intricate pieces of the model in. “What work do you do here?”

“Oh, all sorts of things. Stark Industries projects, gear for the Avengers… I’d kit you out, but I’m pretty sure weapons are a no-no for those recently released from the psych ward, and I’m just gonna pretend you don’t have at least three knives concealed on your person by now as if I haven’t  _ met _ Natasha.”

Yasha stares at him, but then his mouth adjusts into something that might loosely be interpreted as a smirk. “Anyway!” Tony grins. “This is my playground, basically. Eccentric billionaire genius, it has its perks… wait, do you know who I am, even?”

“We were briefed.”

Something about his tone and phrasing gives Tony pause. “I’m guessing… not by Dr. Adeyemi.”

“No.”

“Okay, great, well, I’m just going to pretend HYDRA wasn’t briefing its most valuable assassin on me, because it’s good to have dreams, if that’s all right with you… what about you, Robocop? You like science?”

Yasha stares at him for a moment, then seems to honestly consider the question. “I… don’t know.” 

“Huh, all right, I’m just going to assume yes, then. You like guns, right? Guns are a lot of science.”

“I do like guns,” Yasha agrees, looking kind of adorably lost in stating the preference. 

“Fabulous! I mean, well, probably not fabulous, but hey, we all have our weaknesses… me, it’s mint chocolate chip. Point is, guns, those are really just engineering. Sexy, sexy engineering. I try not to spend as much time thinking about guns these days, but I make an exception for the Avengers, and if you ever join the team, I promise you beautiful guns. Well...” Tony grins, eyeing the metal arm. “You don’t actually need help in that department, do you?”

Yasha stares blankly at him. 

“Sorry—guns, it’s slang for arms, and  _ yours _ … baby, you may be terrifying, but I am having inappropriate lust-thoughts for that cyborgian appendage of yours. Let me know if you ever want to let me open it up and poke around.”

Yasha slides back a step, suddenly, looking wary. “No.”

“I mean… sorry! Sorry, that was really crass, I mean, only with your consent, okay? I’d never touch you without your consent,” Tony promises, voice going a little softer and less manic. “I’m kind of firm about that.” 

Yasha nods. “Good.”

“Good. Right… perfect. So what are you doing down here, anyway? Gotta be honest with you, stud, people don’t normally seek me out until they absolutely have to.” 

“You live here. You are of interest to me.” He’s quiet for a moment, and then frowns just slightly. “Why wouldn’t people want to seek you out?”

“Eh,” Tony shrugs it off. “I’m just not someone most people love to be around.”

“You are a rich, physically attractive genius. A lot of people would want to be around you,” Yasha declares matter-of-factly, and Tony just stares at him until he can’t help but bark out a laugh.

“Well thanks, Snowflake, but that’s usually why people want to  _ sleep _ with me, not spend time with me.”

“Who says I don’t want to sleep with you?” His tone is still dryer-than-dry, but those  _ eyes _ . Tony thinks he might be serious. He swallows, hard. 

“Uh… all right, match point to you, then. But even if that was your goal, you can’t just go home in the morning if you live here, see, so we’re back to square one.”

“Convincing me that I don’t want to spend time with you?”

“Something like that.”

Yasha looks unimpressed. “I have met four members of your team. So far, you are the most interesting.”

“Because I’m a physically attractive, rich genius?” Tony parries. Yasha meets his eyes.

“No.”

~*~

“I wish he wasn’t so nervous,” James complains, doing one-armed pull-ups on the bar next to Sam (who is using both his arms, thank you).

“What, Yasha?”

“Yeah. I mean I get it. It’s an unfamiliar environment. But it’s  _ fine _ . It’s obviously safe.”

“Maybe not obvious to him,” Sam suggests. “He was pretty hostile to Steve.”

“I know,” James groans. “I wanted to meet Steve. But he freaked out and blocked me. I don’t know why he has to act like he’s in charge all the time.”

“I don’t know, man,” Sam sighs, jumping down from the bar to take a break and towel away some of the sweat as James keeps on like the Energizer bunny. “I think he just wants to keep you safe.”

“Right, but I’m not completely incompetent. I mean he’s the creeper who  _ murdered _ people, I don’t get why everyone’s so cool with him sticking around.” James makes a frustrated sound, then does some sort of slick maneuver to get his legs up on the bar instead, hanging upside down for some inverted sit-ups. 

“Well, to be fair, murdered people under brainwashing and orders from a bunch of Nazis. And that was the Soldier, right? Not him?”

“Yeah. But he remembers, and it doesn’t bother him. That’s kind of fucked up. You know, I tried to get us out, sometimes. I have these tiny flashes, I’m pretty sure they’re from missions, or after missions. But I kept losing control. If the Soldier wouldn’t let me help, then why do I have to let Yasha help?”

“Well… I mean, I hate to keep going back to ‘brainwashing’, but…”

“All right, all right. I still think he could’ve been stronger. Kept us out of this mess.”

“Go easy on yourself, man. Or...yourselves,” Sam corrects, jumping up to grab the bar again. “I’m just saying. Literal Nazis. Yasha is trying, even if he doesn’t always get it right.”

No answer from Mr. Wonder Abs on his left, but then Sam didn’t really expect one.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And now it gets really dirty. Rough sex galore, and also, some plot. Warning for not much negotiation at all, but all is consensual.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the comments on this one, folks! I love reading your predictions and hopes for the series :-) While not everything you've asked about is planned, a lot of it is...

Tony gets a little less than a week before Yasha struts back into his workshop again, entirely without warning, and this time doesn’t stop before he’s backing a startled Tony into a wall, yanking both hands over his head. Tony’s blinking rapidly, only just realizing he should maybe be giving some thought to  _ defense _ , when Yasha is suddenly greeting him mouth-to-mouth, taking both of Tony’s wrists in that gorgeous metal hand, and skimming the other one down his side. Yasha’s a  _ good _ kisser. Tony probably shouldn’t be moaning this loudly, but in his defense, he was caught very far off guard, and Yasha’s hand is rucking up his t-shirt to get to the flesh beneath and where the  _ fuck  _ did a murderbot learn to kiss like this?

He shifts a little, pressing his body more firmly against the wall of man he’s presented with, and Yasha  _ growls _ against his lips, sucking the bottom one between his teeth. “Oh, fuck,” Tony whispers when Yasha finally gives him a moment to breathe. “I mean oh, fuck,  _ yes _ ,” he clarifies, because even the tiniest flash of uncertainty in Yasha’s eyes makes him want to reassure the other man as clearly as he can, like, with his dick. He slips his tongue into Yasha’s mouth, and Yasha sucks on it just for a moment, the little tease, before he shifts both hands to cup Tony’s face, staring at him like he’s something worth looking at in between those desperate kisses. 

“You,” Yasha murmurs, then drags a metal thumb down over Tony’s bottom lip and oh yeah he is  _ gone _ , probably giving Yasha the most gratuitous submissive porn star eyes as he lets his mouth fall open, but fuck it. Who cares if Yasha will respect him in the morning. And Yasha’s eyes are hot, wanting, pinning Tony to the wall with their intensity. The rest of his hand shifts so that he’s  _ cupping Tony’s throat _ with his palm, and great, possible imminent death should not be a kink, but what-the-fuck-ever. Yasha leans in and deliberately, slowly, licks over his mouth. He holds Tony’s mouth open with his thumb and he traces its outline with his tongue, and when Tony’s own tongue peeks out a bit, licks that too. His breath is warm, and Tony feels way more exposed than he normally would by a kiss. But this is no normal kiss. Yasha looks like he wants to eat Tony for dinner, and Tony would let him. 

“I want to fuck you.”

“Yes,” Tony gasps. “Yes, yes please.” His lips brush against metal as he speaks, and then he sucks Yasha’s thumb into his mouth, because how can he not? He’s starting to feel a little hazy around the edges, which is not a totally unfamiliar feeling when it comes to sex, but it’s been a while, and it’s not  _ nearly  _ this quick when it happens. Usually.

“Do you have…”

“Lube and condoms over there.” He points to a file cabinet. “In the pen drawer thingy on the top. But you’ve got the serum, so if you want to fuck me bare…”  _ Jesus _ , he hasn’t done that in twenty years, what is he even thinking? “It’s safe.”

“Yes,” Yasha agrees, then steps back and Tony immediately misses him. “There.” He points to a desk even as he’s walking towards the filing cabinet. “Bend over.” 

Tony gulps, adjusts himself, and does as he’s told, unzipping his fly as he gets situated and struggling a bit to shove the tight jeans he’s wearing down his thighs. Before he’s totally succeeded, there’s warmth at his back, and Yasha’s yanking them the rest of the way down to his boots. Then he’s draping his whole body over Tony’s, his lips at Tony’s ear. “I  _ want _ you,” he says like it’s a revelation, his hands establishing a demanding grip on Tony’s waist. 

“You’ve got me,” Tony reassures, turning his head to fit their mouths together a little awkwardly, another sloppy kiss. “I want you, too,” he adds, because it’s good to be direct. Yasha rocks against his bare ass, and Tony’s breath hitches as he feels the heavy fabric of Yasha’s pants catch against his skin. Then there’s the click of the cap on the lube and a questing finger rubbing surprisingly gentle circles against his asshole.  _ Too bad it’s not the metal one _ , he thinks, though he’s not totally sure those joints are safe for internal use, and he’s stupid enough as it is about such things. He’s too old to show up in the ER with an accidental asshole injury, really. 

Tony exhales as his body releases enough tension to let the tip of Yasha’s finger in, and then groans when he feels Yasha’s teeth clenching on the back of his neck. There’s that flutter again, of skipping time and delicious loss of responsibility. Yasha works slowly, letting Tony’s body adjust, and it clenches at the second knuckle and then suddenly relaxes, and at that moment Yasha whispers “I like that” in Tony’s ear as he pushes his finger all the way in, curls the tip against Tony’s prostate, and he is  _ gone _ .

If he had the presence of mind to think about it, Tony might be embarrassed by the way his whole body goes loose and starts undulating as Yasha fingers him open, but he does not have the presence of  _ anything _ , no way no how. He grips the other side of the desk and takes it, little sounds falling unbidden from his lips. Yasha slips the metal hand under Tony’s shirt, pressing him in place against the desk with his palm, and Tony groans at the cool unyielding nature of it. He feels pinned down and skewered, and he loves it. It’s still a painful stretch, though, when Yasha finally gets his dick out and starts pushing it into Tony’s body. He whimpers and cries out and Yasha just whispers “yes” in his ear again and again, relentless but slow as he pushes forward. 

“ _ Yes _ ,” he declares when he bottoms out, gripping both of Tony’s hips, and again his teeth are on Tony’s neck and Tony’s whimpering at how  _ much _ it is, and at the same time perfect, as his body struggles to accept the intrusion and flares into startled pleasure at the pressure against his prostate. He’s mumbling absolutely nonsense sounds, half-formed words, and he feels every little drag as Yasha starts to move, surprisingly gentle with him at first, just rocking deep inside his body as Tony gets used to the burn. The idea that they’re skin-to-skin like this gets him deep, safer sex commercials be damned, and he thinks of Yasha coming inside his body and the image makes his dick firm up again against the cool metal of the desk. 

“ _ Krasiviy _ ,” Yasha murmurs in his ear, gradually pulling back more as he rocks his hips, letting Tony feel the drag and the friction. He’s  _ thick _ , and the pressure on Tony’s prostate is almost too overwhelming, spiralling him deeper into this weird mental space. Yasha’s mouth nuzzles at his ear, his neck, his jaw, even as he pulls out and gives Tony the first full-on deep thrust. He shouts, and Yasha just does it again. 

“Fuck fuck fuck,” Tony mutters into his own arm, the squelching sound of the lube downright dirty and the force of Yasha’s thrusts jarring the table a few centimeters across the concrete floor with each movement. And then Yasha lifts up, off of Tony’s body, and he wants to complain except that the change in angle makes the prostate stimulation more bearable, less intense, and Tony’s able to ride the waves of his pleasure without feeling like he’s going to burst out of his own damned mind. Yasha’s hands leave his hips, then, and Tony feels two thumbs spreading him wider as the man fucks him, which… Tony suddenly realizes Yasha’s  _ watching _ himself disappear into Tony’s ass, and there’s a prickle of humiliation followed by a wash of want that he’ll later mentally wave away as a manifestation of his own narcissism. Right now, he just wants to soak in the feeling of being  _ wanted _ , appreciated, cherished… and maybe he gets a little too emotional sometimes when he bottoms, but fuck it. Yasha keeps shoving his dick deep, and Tony can feel the crest building up like a spiral that starts in his ass and radiates out into his dick and his thighs and there’s that brief moment of  _ no I can’t do it _ before  _ fuck _ everything tips over into a grand wave of pleasure that’s nothing like the orgasms he normally has tugging his dick and comes on diffuse and much  _ longer _ , whiting out his brain. He forgot how a prostate orgasm could make him stupid, but hey, Yasha’s not complaining, just fucking Tony faster and holding him down again with both hands, the stimulation back to being  _ too much _ but it’s almost good like this, after he’s come. Yasha presses his whole body down against Tony’s again when he finds his own release, and Tony can barely breathe but he lets him, reaching back to give his thigh a clumsy squeeze.

Fortunately, Yasha takes his own weight after just a few moments, releasing the uncomfortable tightness in Tony’s chest, and Tony closes his eyes and licks his dry lips as he feels Yasha slowly pulling out, imagining the mess of lube and come that the man’s left inside him. Yeah, he’s going to need a shower, but for now, it’s a hot picture. Yasha even tugs his jeans up for him once he’s handled his own pants, before Tony quite has the wherewithal to move.

“Well… fuck.” Tony gingerly pushes himself up to standing, turns around once he has his balance, and offers Yasha a quick kiss. “What was  _ that _ all about?”

Yasha blinks at him, looking confused. “I saw you. I wanted you.”

“...okay,” Tony agrees when it’s clear Yasha’s not going to elaborate. “But… uh… you saw me last time you came down here, right? So why now?”

“I hadn’t met you then. Now I have. I switched out, and I wanted you.”

“Huh.” He explains it like it should be terribly obvious, and Tony reasons, it kind of is, when he puts it like that. “So... you don’t even know whether you like science, but you  _ do  _ know that you like gay sex…” Tony grins to himself, cause,  _ fair. _ “So are you planning on just...taking what you want from me, whenever you feel like it?” He wants to sound indignant, and not like that’s just the hottest thing in the world, but he’s not certain he’s succeeding. Tony sucks at boundaries.

Yasha tilts his head like he doesn’t comprehend the problem. “Yes.”

“Okay then. Wow.” Tony frowns a bit, then reaches up and pets at Yasha’s chest, because it’s right there and very…  _ hard _ . “I feel like I should probably be complaining about this, you know, agency and autonomy and all that, setting a good moral example…” Yasha stares down at him blankly, though he’s patient enough with Tony’s blathering. “...Ah, fuck it, though, let’s be honest, I do kind of like the idea of getting regularly pinned down and nailed to a horizontal surface, like, with your dick.” He sighs at himself. Whatever would Pepper say? “It’s a standing date,” he concedes finally, patting Yasha’s chest and then making himself step back. 

Yasha, for his part, trails his eyes right down Tony’s body again, just like that first meeting, and back up again, his baby blues going dark and hungry at the visual exploration. Tony’s sure he looks a mess, now, and equally sure that he doesn’t care. “Good,” is all Yasha says, before he leaves the workshop.

~*~

“James! Glad you could make it,” Sam grins as he comes into the common area where Bruce is working on “family” dinner and a few others are milling around. It’s obvious from the relaxed, open expression as James and Bruce chat in the kitchen which alter is out right now. “We haven’t seen enough of you, lately.” 

“Not my fault,” James points out, but he’s still smiling, bumping Sam’s offered fist before he goes back to helping Bruce peel potatoes. 

“Not saying it is, still glad you’re here.” Sam slides onto a barstool at the kitchen island, on top of which Clint is perched. “Clint, man, that’s gross. Don’t put your feet where food goes.” 

“Food goes on plates. Besides, I showered.” Natasha just raises an eyebrow at him, and he grins unrepentantly. 

“You’re a menace to society,” Sam mutters. 

“Don’t give him compliments!” James laughs and dumps a full bowl of potato peels into the magical garbage bin—at least that’s how Sam thinks of it, as it’s connected by pneumatic central tubes to a garbage chute just like at Disney world. Possibly just Stark’s paranoia and the desire to avoid cleaning staff, but still cool.

“He takes literally everything as a compliment. He’s impossible to insult, and believe me I’ve tried.” Clint doesn’t take offense, of course, just opens his mouth for Sam to chuck one of the pretzels sitting in a bowl on the island into. 

“I could insult him if I really wanted to, but that would be cruel,” Natasha muses. 

“Oh right, and you’re never cruel.”

“Not to my friends.” Her smile is wicked, and she gives James a conspiratorial wink when he turns to observe them. 

“I mean,  _ I  _ wouldn’t want to become her enemy, just saying.” James wipes his hands on a dishtowel, then gives Bruce’s shoulder a nudge. “What else do you need?”

“Can you slice the potatoes? Half a centimeter thick.”

“On it.” James grabs a knife, and they sit in silence for a few minutes, James humming softly to himself as he slices. The potatoes go into a casserole dish, layered with vegetables and cheese, and then James suddenly turns and aims an accusing look at Clint. 

“Hey, why didn’t you tell me about the Mountain Goats, Barton?” he asks, then adds words to the song he’s been humming with a surprisingly strong singing voice. “Crawl all night on my hands and knees…”

“...damn all these vampires, for what they’ve done to me,” Clint joins in, then laughs, opening the fridge and passing him a beer as a reward for finishing his culinary duties. “Dude, there’s a lot of music in the world. You’ve got time. You like the Mountain Goats, though, there’s a podcast.”

“What’s a podcast?” Steve asks, coming in from behind the wall that sections off the kitchen, and suddenly James goes still, blinking and covering his face with his hands after a few moments. Steve shifts weight, frowning and looking uncomfortable. “...is he...?”

“Stand down, Cap, just a switch,” Natasha explains, holding a hand out to keep him from coming closer. Sure enough, after a few more seconds, James’ head lifts and his eyes clear, narrowing on Steve.

Steve sighs in realization. “Yasha?”

“Yes.”

“Sorry. Do you… want me to go?”

“You live here,” Yasha replies, not really a response. Natasha raises her eyebrows as she hands Steve a beer. 

“Stick around a while, Cap.”

“Yeah, all right.” He eyes Yasha for a moment, who’s giving his own clothing a rather annoyed look, and then takes a chair. “You don’t like that vest?” he guesses.

“I don’t like any of his clothes,” Yasha frowns. He’s wearing the vest in question over a t-shirt, with pleated slacks and a stylish pair of slip-on ankle boots. His hair is tied back in a bun, which is fairly typical for James, while Yasha doesn’t really bother to  _ wash _ his hair, let alone do anything with it. “Too… tailored. And his shoes are too light.” 

“Oh. Do you want to go change before dinner? Looks like you’ve got time,” Steve surmises, peeking over Bruce’s shoulder to see what’s cooking. 

“No.” 

Steve doesn’t add anything to that, then, sitting down next to Sam and popping the cap off his beer without a bottle opener. Yasha shifts to the other side of the open-plan kitchen area, still with his eyes on all of them, but not actually  _ next _ to anybody. No one seems to know quite what to say, for a few minutes, until Tony steps out of the elevator and Yasha pins him with a very  _ intense _ look. Steve frowns, shifting nervously, wondering if something violent is about to happen, but Tony just barrels over to the bar obliviously, pouring himself a drink. 

“Hey, losers! What’s the occasion?”

“Team dinner, Tony,” Steve reminds him with only a little bit of a sigh. “I sent you a calendar invite.”

“Points for use of modern technology!” Tony points to Steve and grins. “But actually, I ignore my calendar unless Pepper or JARVIS tell me not to.” 

“Of course you do.”

“JARVIS? Can you flag team social events for Tony in the future? It’ll make Cap very happy,” Natasha suggests, bemused.

“Certainly, ma’am. Though I did mention the occasion twice to Mister Stark—it is sometimes difficult to confirm his understanding,” JARVIS explains in a very droll tone for an artificial intelligence. Tony shrugs, coming over to join them around the island with his drink, but then cocks his head to the side, eyeing Yasha.

“Wait… why are you wearing James’ clothes?” The others, except for Bruce, all look at him with various levels of surprise, given that Yasha hasn’t actually said anything to point himself out as  _ Yasha _ , but the man in question doesn’t blink.

“He dressed the body this morning. He was here earlier.”

“Yeah, you just missed him, Tony,” Clint adds.

“Huh. Well, if you’re uncomfortable, you know, feel free to strip at any time,” Tony offers with a little smirk as he takes a sip. Steve nearly chokes on his beer. There’s some sort of eye-based communication between them, and Clint’s head swivels between the two like a ping pong match.

“Whoa, did it get sexy in here? I think it got sexy in here.” Natasha punches him in the thigh, hard, without looking.

“Clint, that is completely inappropriate,” Steve chides, but then Yasha strides around the island (still not putting his back to any of them), walks right up to Tony, takes the glass of whisky from his hand, and takes a long sip, maintaining eye contact all the while. Steve wishes he didn’t notice Tony watching him swallow with visible heat in his eyes, and clears his throat hard when Yasha hands the glass back. He doubts Yasha is doing anything rather than playing a game of one-upmanship, and trying to make Tony uncomfortable, but Steve knows Tony’s bar for discomfort is  _ unreasonably  _ high.

“I dunno, Cap. Don’t think I’m the inappropriate one, here…”

Yasha walks back to his spot at the edge of the group without saying anything, and Steve breathes a sigh of relief.

“Well, we should all be used to Tony by now,” he admits. “Just… maybe it wouldn’t kill you to occasionally flirt with people who are actually interested?” Steve suggests, giving Tony a little amused smile. 

“Oh, I’m interested,” Yasha interjects in a low, heated tone, before Tony can say anything. Steve whips around to face him with a look of shocked betrayal.

“ _ You’re _ interested? In  _ Tony _ ?”

“I have eyes,” Yasha responds, his tone so dry that Natasha bursts out laughing, and Clint has to slap her on the back a few times to keep her from inhaling her drink. 

“But you… how does that even  _ work _ ?” Steve sputters. “Isn’t your whole purpose to protect the rest of the system? What does  _ flirting with Tony _ have to do with that?”

“Uh, hi, Cap, interjection, the man is a  _ person _ you know, not just some role you read about in the DID handbook,” Tony counters. “Also, look at me.” He grins at Steve, gesturing up and down his own body with his free hand and his now-empty glass. “He has eyes.”

At that, Yasha actually  _ growls _ a little, and wow Steve is not touching that with a ten-foot pole. 

“I didn’t say you weren’t a person. Just… I didn’t think you had much interest in anything beyond keeping other alters safe.”  _ Keeping me away from Bucky _ , he adds mentally but doesn’t say. “You don’t talk much… I didn’t realize you... had hobbies, or relationships with people, or… yeah.” Yasha just stares at him like he’s dumb, and Tony mutters to himself.

“I don’t know about all that, but he  _ fucks _ , though.”

Steve, unfortunately, has super hearing, and Clint reads lips, so now it’s the archer who’s losing his shit and Natasha clapping him on the back as he laughing so hard his face turns red. 

“Forget I asked.  _ Please _ .”

Clint, still wheezing a bit, turns and points at Yasha. “We haven’t even been introduced yet, but you are my favorite Avenger.”

“He’s not an Avenger,” Sam points out. 

“Sure, but he could be,” Clint argues. “Give it time.” 

Smiling fondly at the group of them, Bruce takes a few steps towards Yasha and offers his hand. “We haven’t met, either. Bruce Banner.”

Yasha nods and accepts the handshake. “I know you. You spend time with James.” 

“I do. He’s a good friend,” Bruce admits cautiously. “But I’d like to get to know you, too. I hear you’ve been around a lot lately.”

Yasha gives him an assessing look, then nods. “James thinks he’s able to control everything on his own. He’s wrong.” 

“Maybe,” Bruce shrugs. “I think he’s just getting used to it. Once he’s had some time, he’ll understand that you’re important.” Tony gives Bruce a significant look at that— _ listen to your own advice, Doctor— _ but Bruce ignores him, even though he can practically feel Tony’s smugness radiating towards him. 

Yasha shrugs. “We don’t feel safe here yet. That means you get more of me.” Then his eyes jump to Tony, and he frowns a little.

“I don’t hear anyone complaining,” Tony points out, his tone soft. “Steve doesn’t count.”

That gets an almost whisper of a smile. “It’s your building, though. Your security. You take pride in your work.” 

“Sure I do. And I don’t always feel safe here, myself.” He’s a little uncomfortable, knowing the rest of the team’s eyes are on him, but he senses this is important for Yasha. “Trauma does fucked up things to your head. Believe me, I know. Whoever needs to front, whenever they need to front, that’s the right person. Whatever you need to do to feel safe is right.” 

“Hear, hear,” Natasha chimes in, reaching out and clinking her beer to Tony’s empty glass on the island. “We’re all kinds of fucked up here. You’ll get used to it.”

~*~

Once the casseroles are out of the oven, they all gather around the big dining table and the atmosphere chills out a bit. Clint has stories to tell of the building he owns in Bed-Stuy and its unique cast of characters, and Steve and Tony somehow get into a million-times re-hashed argument about the honor or lack thereof of the Yankees. Steve calls Tony a VIP box swell and Tony calls Steve a little orphan Annie who only hates the most successful team on principle, but they’re both grinning at each other and relaxed enough that even Yasha seems relatively at ease as he eats his dinner, thigh pressed up against Tony’s under the table.

When Steve reaches for his third helping, Natasha clears her throat and gives Tony a look across the table. “So have you given any thought to a defense strategy? Cause we’re kind of on a timeline, here.”

“Have I given any thought to it,” Tony snorts. “Pepper’s got about eight lawyers working around the clock. I didn’t want to bring it up before you’re ready,” he adds, addressing Yasha directly. 

Yasha cocks his head slightly to one side. “You think any court would exonerate me, for what I’ve done?” There’s no emotion in his voice, not even sarcasm. He just sounds vaguely curious. 

“Hell yeah I do, considering you didn’t  _ do _ any of it. Out of anybody, my opinion ought to hold some weight here.”

“Why?” Steve asks, genuinely confused. “Just because you’re Tony Stark?”

“No,” Tony laughs, a little bitterly. “I’m not that vain, Captain. Because the Winter Soldier killed my parents.”

“ _ What _ ?” Steve goes ghostly pale, and the rest of them (minus Natasha) just stare at Tony, who waves it off like yesterday’s news.

“I found out after Nat dumped the SHIELD files. It wasn’t in there directly, but there was a fishy trail… well. It led to the big fish.” He shrugs, certainly much more nonchalant about it than he was the night he found the information. It’s another detail to shove behind the layers of his masks, and with that he’s got plenty of practice.

“Jesus,” Steve mutters. “Howard… you didn’t… you didn’t recognize him?” 

“Why would I recognize Tony’s father?” Yasha asks, and it’s another harsh reminder that he  _ isn’t _ Bucky. 

“No. I guess you’re right.” 

“ _ Anyway _ ,” Tony interjects. “Point is, I will testify on his behalf, if it comes to that. And it’s highly unusual—you know the government doesn’t like getting stuff like HYDRA and the super soldier serum out into regular courtrooms. They’d like to throw him down a deep dark hole, but that’s not an option either, as we’ve made abundantly clear.” He laces his fingers together, cracking his knuckles.

“What exactly are we talking about, anyway?” Clint asks. “Plenty of separate governments could make a case if they wanted to, right? But aren’t you  _ already _ on all the Most Wanted lists?” 

Yasha almost smiles at that. 

“There’s no evidence of any of his past hits,” Tony explains. “I mean yeah, if he goes public as the Winter Soldier, it paints a target on his back, but short of that, the real problem is DC. No one has a full face pic of these baby blues, but it’s a distinctive enough build, nevermind the cybernetic enhancement. Any law enforcement officer in the country could try to take him in, go after me for harboring a fugitive…”

“Unless I don’t leave the Tower.”

“No way,” Tony objects, eyes flashing fiercely as he turns to face Yasha. “Not an option. You’re not going to be an indefinite prisoner here, and I don’t want you skulking all over the city, either. You’re a goddamned national hero, you should be able to get some sun on your face in Central Park if you feel like it.”

Another whisper of a smile. “Then what do you want me to do?”

“We’ll take some press. Very selectively. The whole public story around DC is that you were a combatant involved with a terrorist group… so we spin it. You were a POW, you were brainwashed. We don’t release your full name, no one knows how old you are. The whole damned story is too fantastic for anyone to believe it even if it  _ was _ leaked. Anyone outside HYDRA who does think the Winter Soldier is more than a ghost story either believes our side or the story or they come for you, and then they’re on the wrong side of the law and you’ve got the Avengers at your back. You’d need to wear your mask or something like it in public, avoid anyone actually figuring out who you were, but at least you’d be able to walk down the street. Fight with us if you ever want to do that.”

“Tony... I’m missing the actual legal part of all this,” Sam frowns.

“The lawyers think we can get him a Presidential pardon. Very small closed-door meeting, need-to-know, basically just the Attorney General and the Secretary of Defense with a few of our legal team and Dr. Adeyemi. We tell them the entire truth and make the case, the President signs on the line… public apology on behalf of the country and the Army would be nice, he does owe me a favor.”

“You never do things by halves, do you?”

“Of course not, Wings,” Tony grins at Sam. “Point is, we get the pardon and a statement from the White House, that sends a message to the world and it sets the stage for the Avengers’ release.”

“You don’t think the public will find it strange, that we’re supporting the former assassin who tried to kill a few of us? No offense,” Bruce adds in his usual soft tone. 

“I think it’s the kind of story the public will eat up. Gives it more cred. If we trust him, so does everyone else. There is a catch, though.” Tony rests a hand on Yasha’s knee, his expression apologetic. “I assume the AG and SecDef will want to meet you in person once they see the evidence. Hear your side of the story. We have the audio recordings Dr. Adeyemi made of her conversations with Winter, but I can’t tell you how they’re going to react. I wouldn’t be totally surprised if they think DID is bullshit, and I know you can’t necessarily control who shows up to a given meeting.”

Yasha meets his eyes, calm as he ever seems. “What do you need from me?”

“I wouldn’t ask you to expose Winter to this, on purpose. But if there’s discussion of what specifically happened, the kind of abuse you went through… that’s a risk, right?” Yasha nods. “Dr. Adeyemi can explain how memories work in the system, but they might want to ask you questions, anyway, that the alter they have in front of them can’t answer. And it’s possible… I  _ hope _ not, but it’s possible they’ll take that as suspicious. If you don’t remember. And it’s also possible that they’ll read  _ you _ as hostile, if you need to be there. Which is bullshit, but it is what it is.”

“I can lie,” Yasha offers. “I can pretend to be James.”

“Huh.” Tony frowns, considering. “And the memories?”

“I think I can ask Winter for them,” Yasha admits. “Sometimes we share.”

“Shit,” Sam chimes in. “I mean, we knew that was possible, but… is that really okay with you?”

Yasha shrugs. “They don’t hurt. It’s not the same. Winter lived them. I didn’t.”

“So… if you need to be there, you’ll pretend to be James, and tell them Winter’s memories? That seems like a lot to keep track of,” Bruce points out.

Yasha, for his part, just turns to Bruce and gives him a slow, lazy grin that completely transforms his face from one moment to the next. “Y’think I can’t do it? Might prove you wrong, Doctor,” he teases in James’ softer tones, and it really is uncanny valley as they all stare at James-who-is-not-James suddenly sitting at the dining table with them.

“Creepy,” Tony declares. “I like it.”

And just like that, Yasha’s back to his own face, giving Tony a look like he’s ready for dessert and Tony’s the only thing on the menu. 

“That is horrifying,” Clint mutters.

“Practical,” Natasha chimes in. “C’mon, Clint, help clear the table.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he jokes, and starts piling plates while studiously avoiding Tony and Yasha giving each other  _ eyes _ . Steve jumps up to help, probably for the same reason, and soon the table’s clean except for a few half-full beer bottles. Rounding the island with a stack far too high and far too precariously balanced, though, Clint clips the edge with his hip and the entire stack comes tumbling down with a loud crash. At the table, Bruce takes a deep, deliberate breath in, and Yasha’s eyes stop tracking normally, the muscles in his face twitching. Sam scoots back a bit from the table, looking very wary, and Clint grabs a knife from the pile he’s just dropped. Tony, on the other hand, just waits patiently, hand still on the other man’s thigh, adopting an open, relaxed posture.

“Hey. Welcome to the party,” he greets when a pair of blue eyes focus on him again, blinking in confusion. His tone is cheerful, and the other man offers a tentative smile.

“... Tony, right?”

“Present and accounted for.” He offers a hand to shake. 

“James.” James looks around the room, blushing a bit as he takes in the tension in the Avengers’ bodies and the array of dishes strewn across the floor. Steve, for his part, has already slipped away, out of sight. “Sorry… did I… uh…” 

“Oh, ignore these idiots. I don’t know why they’re acting like a bomb’s about to go off, but to be fair, when I’m around, explosions are kind of par for the course.” Tony sits back in his chair, removing his hand from James’ leg, and gives him a disarming grin. “Also, lack of personal boundaries, but to be fair, that wasn’t for you,” he adds, nodding to James’ thigh. The other man looks a little confused, but laughs it off. 

“Did I miss dinner?”

“Technically. But don’t worry, in Avengers Tower, there are always seconds…”

~*~

For a few days, Tony loses himself in a project and doesn’t make any contact at all with the Barnes System, nor the Avengers, for that matter. He sleeps, if not enough, and eats, even if it’s mostly smoothies, and gets close to cracking a tricky micro-circuitry issue by the time Yasha shows up in his workshop again. He catches the other man out of the corner of his eye—and he doesn’t doubt that’s on purpose, that he wouldn’t see Yasha if Yasha didn’t want him to—but doesn’t look up immediately, focused on the delicate pieces he’s manipulating with the aid of his Iron Man gauntlets and some very precise tools. Yasha, unsurprisingly, is patient, and stands there for the six minutes it takes for Tony to finish his work, retract the gauntlets, and offer his full attention.

Which...wow. Yep, he’s got Tony’s full attention. He’s wearing a black Henley and leather pants that are molded to his body in a way that, well,  _ emphasizes _ his package. Tony provided the man’s entire wardrobe, including a variety of options for pants offering the kind of practical protective covering he imagined Yasha would prefer (denim, leather, fun new synthetic fabrics) but he didn’t realize quite how…  _ fitting _ some of those options would be.

“Well,” he coughs, dragging his eyes up to Yasha’s face. “That’s a fashion choice.”

Yasha frowns. “Do you not like my pants?” he asks directly, clearly not twigging on exactly what Tony’s noticed. He can’t help but smirk, cause well, he’s Tony.

“No, no, I like them,” he clarifies. “I’m just distracted by a certain part of your anatomy I’d really like to choke on.”

Yasha doesn’t respond, for a moment, to Tony’s muttered quip, and then his eyes narrow. Tony can actually see his pupils dilating, even at a distance. 

“Stark.”   


“Yeah?” 

Yasha points to the floor, just beyond the toes of his boots. Tony swallows hard, considers a retort, and then decides it’s time for a break anyway. He keeps his eyes on Yasha’s as he pushes up from his stool, crosses the space between them, and then gets right up into his personal bubble before lowering himself to the concrete. His knees are going to hate him for this, but Yasha’s rubbing himself casually through the leather and Tony decides that he doesn’t really care.

He rubs his cheek up against a thigh, can’t help himself, testing the feel against his skin. Yasha grabs him by the hair, then, and guides him to press his face right up against the aforementioned package, the smell of leather invading his nose as his scalp prickles with pain. He makes a soft sound, thinking that “smothered against another man’s dick” isn’t even the  _ least _ dignified way he’s been likely to go out in the past five years, but then Yasha tugs him off enough to get his fly open, behind which he is  _ going commando holy fuck _ . And that’s it, Tony’s gone. He opens his mouth and takes Yasha’s soft cock in, feeling it plump up in his mouth as he suckles at it, working his tongue while there’s still room. It doesn’t take much time at all, and then Tony’s trying to pull back and adjust and Yasha’s just. Not. Letting him.

He hasn’t  _ actually _ choked on dick since college, but Yasha’s apparently game to take him at his word, the head of his cock pushing into Tony’s throat where sure enough, that little tickle makes him gag a little, the angle awkward. Yasha lets him breathe, but not much, before he’s fucking back inside without giving Tony any time to relax or adjust. The sounds his throat makes trying to take Yasha’s girth are obscene, gurgles and the occasionally retch paired with the wet slide of Yasha’s cock against his lips and tongue. It’s maybe the messiest blowjob Tony’s ever given, saliva dripping down his chin and tears flowing freely as his body can’t keep up with the rough pace. He’s indeed a bit dizzy from lack of oxygen, and though he can’t remember the last time he actually let someone fuck his face, it’s somehow  _ perfect _ . In sharp dichotomy to the fact that he’s literally choking Tony on his dick, Yasha’s metal fingers pet Tony’s face like he’s precious, caress his cheek and his jaw and his neck and when he manages to glance up, Yasha’s looking at him in awe, like Tony’s made of something rare and priceless. Tony knows he looks wrecked like this, probably red in the face and covered in tears and spit, but the way Yasha strokes his skin makes him feel beautiful. 

His hands scrabble and grip at Yasha’s leather-clad ass as Tony takes him deep, and thankfully it doesn’t last long, because there’s no way Tony could actually take a blowjob this rough for much longer. Yasha bends his knees and forces Tony’s head to an angle that lets him push Tony all the way down, face-to-pubes, before he comes, lasting long enough that when he pulls off Tony’s coughing and gasping for air. He collapses to one side as soon as it’s over, landing on his ass and blinking.

“ _ Fuck. _ ”

Yasha gives him a considering look, then crouches down in front of him, petting his face now with the fingers of his right hand. He still has that look of reverence about him, and Tony’s feels a little uncomfortable. 

“Well,” he admits with a wry grin, hoping for levity. His voice comes out hoarse though, unusually gravelly. “Now I’m a goddamned mess. Hope you’re pleased with yourself.”

“Yes,” Yasha agrees, and then leans forward and  _ licks _ a track of Tony’s tears from his cheek. He blinks once, twice, and then just gives up, wiping his chin with the back of his hand before Yasha goes for that, too.

“You’re kind of weird,” Tony declares, but Yasha’s hand is back on his face and Tony’s nuzzling into his palm, so it comes off soft and affectionate rather than an insult. 

“Yes.”

~*~

“So, how are the alters settling in? It’s… James, mostly, right?” Rhodey’s calling from a base somewhere in Western Europe, but through his secured StarkPhone, not a military line. He’s been briefed on the whole situation through secure channels, but this is the first personal conversation he and Tony have had since the Barnes System transferred upstairs. It’s mid-afternoon, but Tony’s been on an engineering bender interspersed with more rough sex—twice—so he’s splayed out on his back in bed with the windows tinted dark as if it’s nighttime. 

“Like half, maybe,” Tony corrects. “He was around the most in the clinical suite we set up for him, but now that they’re on the Avengers floor Yasha fronts more. He’s still deciding how safe it is, I think.”

“Right. And Yasha’s the scary one?”

Tony snorts. “I think the Asset’s  _ actually _ the ‘scary one,’ but no one’s met him yet. Yasha’s just… quiet. The tall dark and deadly type.”

“Tones…” Rhodey groans, sounding exasperated. “Tell me you’re not hitting on the master assassin.”

“I’m… not hitting on the master assassin?”

“Is that true?”

“I mean technically, he started hitting on me first…”

“Goddamnit.”

“He’s harmless! I swear! Harmless to me, at least.”

“Did you adopt a pet murder-cyborg? What did I tell you about pets, Tony?”

“That was  _ one time _ .”

“How does Rogers feel about you hitting on some version of his best friend, anyway?”

“Well, he’s pretty clearly not best friends with  _ Yasha _ . I think he’s more weirded out that I’m fucking him, though.”

There’s a long silence, and Tony grins, picturing Rhodey with his head buried in his hands. It’s easy to imagine, as it’s a look he’s seen a lot on his best friend.

“Can we go back to you  _ not _ thinking with your dick, cause it was going so well…” Rhodey sighs, finally.

“It’s his fault. Totally his fault. I take maybe five percent responsibility.”

“You have never been only five percent responsible for something in your  _ life _ .”

“Okay, fifteen. But you need to see this man, Honeybear.”

“I have seen him. On the news trying to kill Captain America.”

“That was the Soldier. I promise, he’s reformed. They all are, as far as we can tell, but definitely Yasha. He hasn’t tried to murder Steve once, just glare him to death.”

“Well that’s comforting. Is this gonna be a  _ thing _ , then? Is it a relationship or is he just dicking you down?”

“Hey! Why are you assuming  _ he’s _ the top?”

“Is he?”

“I hate you.”

“No you don’t.”

“No, I don’t. But no, it’s not a relationship. I mean, not really. He’s kind of possessive, but... I think it’s just a sex thing.”

“You think? I’m guessing you haven’t talked it out like an adult, because that would be too, I don’t know, not you.”

Tony rolls his eyes and rubs a little at his chest, where the arc reactor used to be. “He’s not much for talking. He just kind of… goes for what he wants. Like, the first time, he pretty much just stalked into the workshop and kissed me without asking, which, rude, except holy hell. How he’s such a good kisser, I have no idea, but  _ Rhodey _ .”

“TMI, man. And also, I think that’s not just rude, it’s a consent violation.”

“Except it wasn’t, because I was consenting  _ hard _ .”

“You know what I mean. Just how far is this not talking thing going? And what do you mean by possessive? Do I need to start waving red flags in your face, Tony?”

“It’s not like that. Well… it’s kind of like that, but I don’t know.” He feels his cheeks heat, thinking about it. “I know it’s not going into the ‘how to negotiate safer sex’ handbook or anything, but I’m a grown-ass adult and I know what I like. And he really, really  _ wants _ me. It’s hot.”

“As long as you’re not going to let him go further than you’re comfortable with just because you hate talking. Cause I feel like we had that conversation circa 1993, JARVIS could probably pull up the recording for you.”

“Nothing like that, I swear. I’ve liked everything we’ve done so far. And he’s not possessive like, creepy abuser possessive. He just, y’know, likes leaving marks.”

“TMI! When are you going to learn the meaning of  _ TMI _ ?” 

“Hmmm…” Tony grins. “Total Mechanical Intelligence? Tomatoes, Mustard, and Iceberg? Tony’s Marvelously Interesting?”

“Tony’s a marvelous idiot…” Rhodey mutters, and Tony laughs and laughs.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Relationship development in any and all directions. Everyone adjusts to the new normal. Also, another alter emerges!

“Do you ever feel like this is defeating the point of a run?” Steve asks with a grin as they slide into a booth at their favorite diner, something of a Saturday tradition. Sam just shakes his head, matching his smile.

“Man’s gotta eat. Goes triple for super soldiers.” A brusque server comes over and takes their drink orders—coffee for Sam, a large glass of orange juice for Steve—then hurries off to handle other tables. They mostly ignore the menus and order from memory when she returns, a basic plate for Sam with bacon, eggs, and three pancakes, and two of their largest special combination plus an extra stack of strawberry pancakes for Steve. The staff have stopped asking if he’s sure, but they don’t make a big deal of him either, which keeps them coming back every weekend.

“So is it just wishful thinking on my part, or have you and Yasha actually been kind of getting along?” Sam teases when the server’s disappeared again.

Steve rolls his eyes a little, taking a big sip of his juice. “I’m not exactly being bowled over by his charming attitude. But yeah, I guess. We’ve reached a détente.”

“Interesting word choice for a Soviet assassin,” Sam quips, but Steve just gives him a slightly confused look and Sam realizes that bit of US-USSR relations wasn’t covered in Steve’s “welcome to a century of American history” briefing. “Anyway. That sounds like progress.”

Steve shrugs. “I guess… he hasn’t been bothering me quite as much. Maybe I wasn’t giving him a fair shake, at first. He didn’t really seem like his own person, just a… mechanism for keeping people out.”

“He’s got a personality. It’s kind of hard to spot, but it’s there.”

“Yeah. I guess… seeing him around the Tower with Stark… Yasha’s different, with him. I don’t know why the hell  _ Stark _ is what interests him, but he seems more human, when they’re together.”

“No accounting for taste,” Sam snorts as their food arrives, Steve’s mountains of pancakes and hashbrowns, eggs and assorted meats, taking over most of the table. Sam accepts a refill on his coffee and watches, a little amused, as Steve dumps syrup over half of it. At least this diner has actual maple, another point in its favor.

“I guess… I still kind of wonder if it’s possible, that they’ll get past this at some point. That they can recover,” Steve admits, a little guilty. “But it’s different now. There would be casualties. It would seem kind of unfair to Tony.”

“Would’ve been casualties either way,” Sam points out gently. “Just because he didn’t have relationships yet, when he first showed up, doesn’t mean Yasha was less of a person. And ‘recovery’ doesn’t have to mean integration, that’s your first mistake,” he adds, pointing at Steve with his fork. “Might be easier for you if you stop thinking of recovery as a return to the status quo, and start thinking of it as living a good life as a system.”

“I guess,” Steve agrees, slightly sulky, but he can’t deny Sam’s logic. He stabs some pancake, egg, and potato all onto his fork and shoves the whole bite in his mouth while Sam gives him a look that silently passes judgement on his manners and probably his mother’s child-rearing practices at the same time. 

“Think of it this way. Does recovery  _ ever _ look like the status quo? Say Bruce got rid of the Hulk tomorrow, would he be the same person he was before all the years of hiding out terrified of the casualties he might cause? When they reconstructed Tony’s chest and got rid of the arc reactor, did he go back to the same guy he was before he was tortured? This might seem like a more extreme case, but it’s all just variations. And even if we magically brought Bucky back,  _ you _ wouldn’t be the same person you were before he fell and you went into the ice, Steve.” Sam’s look is more significant at that statement, and Steve doesn’t really have an answer for him. He covers for it with a mouthful of syrupy pancakes and strawberries, and ignores Sam’s smugness for now.

~*~

After the sixth “encounter” in his workshop and lab complex, Tony finally puts his foot down and insists that at his age, they really have to consider sex in a bed. Yasha takes that in stride easily enough. He starts showing up when Tony’s getting ready for sleep, or early in the morning, and the sex is just as good, Yasha just as insistent and Tony just as yielding. Usually he just stalks out after, but one night, Tony’s floaty enough when they’re finished that he gets clingier than he’d ever admit in a normal headspace, and Yasha’s able to read him enough that he strips all the way down and stays, holding Tony through the night. In the morning, Tony’s a little disoriented by the broad chest under his cheek, and even more so when he scoots over a little and finds the man next to him blinking and half-hiding his face under the pillows with a shy little smile. 

It takes a second, because hey,  _ before coffee _ , but Tony takes it in stride, smiling at the stranger—not James, he’s pretty sure, James is softer than Yasha but not quite this shy and sweet—and brushing it off with a joke. 

“Hey there, gorgeous. Gotta be honest, this isn’t  _ normally _ how I wake up in bed with a strange man, but you’re welcome just the same.”

The man  _ giggles _ at Tony’s greeting and pushes his face more into the pillows, then emerges again, his voice soft and foreign.  _ Winter _ , Tony realizes, not understanding the Russian, but JARVIS helpfully displays text in English on the wall behind Winter so Tony doesn’t have to ask. 

“I didn’t mean to. Is it okay?”

“Sure, sweetheart,” Tony agrees, his voice soft and easy. He knows Dr. Adeyemi has been helping Winter understand the system and why he wakes up in seemingly random places at random times, but it’s still got to be strange. “As long as you’re comfortable, like I said, you’re welcome here.”

“No sex,” Winter says quickly, his gaze dropping downward. “But… I would like to stay.”

“That’s fair.” He’s hardly going to make a move on this shy man he doesn’t even know yet, but Tony doesn’t have to elaborate. “Do you like cuddles? I do cuddles.”

Winter considers him a moment, then his eyes track to one side, as if listening to someone else. Tony waits patiently, having witnessed this kind of thing occasionally with Yasha, recognizing it as another alter “speaking” to the one at the front. After a moment Winter focuses on him again and nods, closing the space between them again. Unlike Yasha, though, who’d wrapped Tony firmly up in his arms like a possession he didn’t want anyone else to swipe, Winter nuzzles gently into his neck, snaking his arms around Tony’s waist so they’re lying side-by-side, facing one another. Tony takes the cue and slips one arm underneath Winter’s neck so he can pet his new cuddle-buddy’s hair. 

“You feel nice,” Winter mumbles, translated by JARVIS. “Yasha likes you a lot,” he adds before his body goes lax and his breathing evens out again. Tony just blinks and keeps petting. Well. This is something new.

~*~

After Winter’s brief appearance, Yasha wakes up the second time, and after a quick mutual handjob, they get out of bed and start getting ready for the day. Tony asks whether Yasha knows that he met Winter earlier and Yasha just nods, unconcerned, passing him the toothpaste.

“We trust you with him,” he explains, and that’s that, even if for someone like Yasha it’s actually quite a profound declaration. Tony ponders it as he brushes his teeth and neatens his facial hair.

“Shut me up if you don’t want to answer this,” Tony offers, setting down his razor and giving Yasha an inquisitive look, “but… do you feel safer here, these days?”

Yasha tilts his head to the side, considering the question. “Sometimes,” he finally answers. “With you, yes.” Tony smiles and kisses him, because he can’t help himself, and even though they’re not actively fucking at the moment, Yasha doesn’t complain. He cups Tony’s face with his right hand, rubs his jaw with his thumb, and then raises his eyebrows. “Do you?”

Tony’s a little taken aback by the question, and his first instinct is to deflect, his eyes darting off to the side as his mind grabs for a non-obvious topic change. But Yasha just patiently grips his chin, turns his head back to meet Yasha’s eye contact. Tony feels his cheeks go warm. 

“I feel safe with you,” he admits, and it’s only in saying it out loud that he realizes it’s completely true. His therapist would probably love hearing that his most effective coping mechanism these days is sleeping with a cybernetically enhanced master assasin.  _ Sounds healthy. _ “Otherwise, it’s complicated.”

“Something happened. To make you feel unsafe.”

“Yeah,” Tony agrees. “I guess… HYDRA didn’t brief you on the Ten Rings?”

Yasha frowns. “International terrorist organization. Ties to weapons, human trafficking, industrial manufacturing. How are they relevant?”

Tony laughs, a bitter thing, and balls his hands into fists. “They were… very relevant, for a while. Mainly because they nearly managed to kill me, did manage to kidnap me, and were the reason I created the first Iron Man suit.” He reaches for Yasha’s metal hand, guiding it to his massively scarred chest. “Indirectly, they’re responsible for all this. But it’s a long story I’m not in the mood to tell right now. Maybe you could just… read about it.” Yasha frowns, tracing the scars.

“Do you have their names?”

Tony laughs and shakes his head. “Too late, sweetheart. I already handled the whole murder rampage bit years ago. Nothing left for you.” Yasha smiles at that, and it should be creepy in context, but he just looks terribly proud. He kisses Tony fiercely, backing him up against the sink, and Tony laughs against his mouth. “Baby, I think... technically that shouldn’t turn you on,” he teases, and Yasha just stares at him.

“You are a pot and a kettle.” He doesn’t get the phrase quite right, but yeah, Tony has been known to show inappropriate levels of arousal over Yasha’s less gentle behavior, so the man’s got a point. They kiss some more, but it’s not urgent, and eventually Yasha lets him go. He follows Tony into the shower, washing himself perfunctorily and then digging his thumbs into Tony’s shoulders, massaging while Tony washes his hair.

“Damn, Snowflake. That’s a talent.” He leans back against Yasha while he waits for the conditioner to set, and smiles when Yasha’s arms loop around to hold him tight. “So… things are better? I’m glad for all of you, but selfishly, I haven’t minded having you around more often,” he admits.

“I will visit you whenever I can,” Yasha promises. “James is better, though, with others.”

“With Steve?”

“Maybe, soon. He still wants Bucky. But maybe he can… see the difference.” 

“I think he’s starting to,” Tony agrees, pulling away to rinse the conditioner out. “But you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

Yasha shrugs. “I can’t control every switch. He’s not the threat he was. But he’s still a threat to this body. One of the only people who is.” 

Tony nods. “I can respect that. Though, you know, technically,  _ I’m _ a threat to that body.”

“Is that so?” Yasha is giving him a very unimpressed look, and Tony grins.

“Yep. I want to do all  _ sorts _ of things to that body,” he explains, and Yasha responds with a very predatory grin. Okay. Maybe there’s time for just  _ one _ more quickie before he gets to work….

~*~

“Hey Yasha,” Steve greets, a little distracted, when he realizes he’s not the only one in search of a late-night snack in the common kitchen. The other man blinks at him, then his face melts into an unfamiliar smile. 

“Not Yasha, actually. I’m James.” He puts a bowl of shockingly orange noodles down on the island and offers a hand, which Steve just stares at for a moment before he stutters into action, accepting it with a firm shake.

“Uh, sorry… sorry. You caught me off guard, a little. I’m Steve. It’s nice to meet you.” Steve’s smile is tentative, but James seems easy and cheerful with the new acquaintance.

“No problem. I know Yasha’s been playing keep-away. He’s obnoxious sometimes.” James rolls his eyes as he spoons up some more EZ Mac, and Steve eyes the bright orange noodles a little dubiously. 

“Uh… what are you eating?”

“EZ Mac! Mac ‘n cheese from a box. Wanna try? It’s pretty great.” 

Steve frowns and shakes his head. “I… think I’ll pass. That doesn’t look anything like the mac ‘n’ cheese I know,” he admits, rooting through the refrigerator instead and settling on some leftover sesame chicken. 

“It’s kind of its own genre,” James explains. “I dunno, pretty much everything’s new to me, so why not experiment?” 

Steve smiles, because  _ that _ at least is familiar, but unlike James he still has the associations of home and Sarah Rogers’ table, and some modern conveniences he just can’t quite fathom. “Still, I’ll leave it to you.” They stand there for a moment in companionable silence, aside from the hum of the microwave, until James breaks it.

“Can’t sleep?”

“Not… that I can’t. More that I don’t need much,” Steve shrugs. 

“Oh, yeah. Me too. I guess that makes sense, that we’d be the same that way. Dr. Adeyemi says they juiced us with the same thing, more or less.”

“That’s what we think,” Steve agrees. “It’s kind of hard to be certain. I don’t understand any of the science.”

“No, me neither. I bet Bruce could figure it out, but maybe it doesn’t really matter.”

“Maybe not. You… spend a lot of time with Doctor Banner? When you’re out?”

“Yeah,” James agrees, and his cheeks tint a little, which is not a look Steve’s ever actually seen on this face. It’s intriguing. “We get along real well. He’s teaching me chess.”

“Huh. I don’t know how to play. Sometimes we do poker, though, if you wanna join.”

“Sure.” James smiles. “I think I know poker.”

“Watch out for Tony. I’m pretty sure he counts cards, even though he’s a billionaire and doesn’t need any of our money.” The microwave beeps, and Steve pulls out his food and a fork. James laughs.

“Doesn’t anyone call him out on it?”

“Nah. They still want to win. Natasha actually does, half the time. But I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s cheating, too.  _ Don’t _ tell her I said that.”

“Your speculations are safe with me,” James grins. “She’s kind of terrifying.”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Steve agrees. “But she’s a good friend, too. Don’t let her scare you too much, unless you’ve done something to deserve it.”

“I won’t. Promise. Might learn to count cards, though.” Bucky had known how, Steve doesn’t say, at least well enough to clean up at the basement tables in their neighborhood. Bucky was never Tony  _ Stark _ , but he was always brilliant at math. It didn’t surprise Steve in the slightest when he finished top of his sniper class, despite a lack of formal education beyond 16. He always played a little dumber, but Steve knew better.

James scoops up the last of his EZ Mac, and gives Steve a speculative look when he’s done with the bite. “You wanna spar sometime? If Yasha doesn’t think you’re actually trying to hurt us, he might even let me.”

Steve laughs, because he can totally picture Yasha as a frowning tiny guardian on James’ shoulder. “Sure. I’d like that.” 

“You know…” James pauses, hesitating as he takes his bowl over to the sink. “I know you lost your friend. I don’t have his memories, but we have a journal. I know why Yasha doesn’t trust you. I’m sorry for your loss.” He stands there at the sink for a moment, quiet, not facing Steve. “If seeing me makes it harder…”

“No,” Steve interrupts, reaching out to put a hand on James’ shoulder. “It’s okay. You’re not…” He stops himself, though, pushing for honesty and not just platitudes. “It is harder. Than with Yasha. I mean, you’re not scowling at me all the time, so yeah, you’re closer to Bucky. But I know you’re not the same. I can accept that.” He drops his hand and James turns around, sympathy in his eyes.

“It sucks to lose someone. It can’t help you, always seeing his ghost. But I’d like to get to know you, if you can handle it.”

“Yeah, James.” Steve’s smile is genuine. “I’d like that too.”

~*~

“I met Steve,” James says as he’s pouring tea in Bruce’s apartment. “I like him, so far.”

“Yeah? That’s good. Steve’s a good person.”

“He’s hurting more than he lets on. I can see that,” James admits, crossing the open-plan space with the mugs and settling next to Bruce on his long, low sofa. “But he’s trying.”

“Steve… takes the world on his shoulders. I don’t know him the best of the Avengers, but I think we’ve all seen it. He’s proud of himself for making sacrifices, but he can’t admit that he makes them because he feels like he’s got nothing to lose.” Bruce frowns, cupping the mug in both hands. “I can relate.”

“Bruce.” James puts his own mug down, scoots close and rests a gentle hand on Bruce’s thigh. When they’re alone, Bruce is tactile, even if he sometimes gets shy about it, worried about the Hulk. But James never really disturbs the other guy with his calm, deliberate nature. 

“Don’t worry,” Bruce smiles. “I’m not going on any suicide missions. Wouldn’t matter, even if I was. I just… get what that’s like. When you don’t feel connected to anything. Leading the Avengers helps him, a lot, but he was hoping for a silver bullet when the Winter Soldier dropped his mask and he realized… well, I think he hoped he’d find Bucky and everything would be the same again. He can be remarkably stubborn when he’s in denial.”

“I see.” James’ smile is sad, his thumb idly tracing patterns on Bruce’s thigh. Bruce covers James’ hand with one of his own, warm from the mug. 

“Don’t blame yourself. Certainly not for  _ existing _ .”

“I don’t. I just… wish he didn’t have to go through this. Or that he had someone… special. Someone who could help him through this.”

“Personally, I wish he had a therapist,” Bruce admits a little wryly, taking a sip of his tea. “He’s very 1930s about all that.”

“I could talk to him? Tell him what it’s like with Dr. Adeyemi.”

“Maybe. I don’t know if anyone’s going to convince him, though. Sam’s definitely tried. That’s not your responsibility. He knows it’s an option when he’s ready.”

James nods. “Do you have a therapist?” he asks, and Bruce just laughs.

“No. Sorry… no. I have other tools, though. Meditation, especially.”

James doesn’t look entirely satisfied, but he lets it go, picking up his own mug and sipping from it. “Steve and Sam, are they close?”

“Yeah. They have been since they met. Sam just sort of… follows wherever Steve needs him.” Bruce smiles. “The man has the patience of a saint.”

“A very snarky saint.” James grins. “Sam doesn’t take bullshit, in any event.”

“No,” Bruce agrees. “Unlike me.”

“You? You don’t seem very bullshit-tolerant, honestly...”

“I work closely with Tony Stark. Enough said.”

“Okay, that’s actually a fair argument,” James frowns a bit, leaning into Bruce as he sips his tea. “Did you know the Soldier killed Tony’s parents?” 

“Yeah. He mentioned it when we were talking over your defense strategy. Tony did, I mean. He… seemed at peace with it.” 

“I don’t know how,” James murmurs. “Yasha doesn’t even seem to  _ care _ , it’s just one more fucked-up fact in the arsenal of his memories. He shared it with me like ‘oh, FYI, here’s something you should probably know’ as if he was letting me know where he’d left our cell phone or something. Dr. Adeyemi thinks it’s because his capacity for emotional engagement is lower than mine, but that sounds like a convenient excuse to me. Does she really think he’s not engaging emotionally at  _ all _ with Tony? I don’t have his memories but I know  _ that’s _ bullshit.” 

“Hmm.” Bruce presses his lips to James’ temple absently, stroking down the line of his spine. “It does seem plausible that he accesses emotions more readily through sex, or… relationships, than through thinking about his past missions. Just as a thought.”

“Maybe. But the Soldier  _ murdered _ Tony’s  _ parents _ and Yasha remembers every detail. Don’t healthy people talk about shit like that?” 

“Probably. If you’re putting Tony in a box of ‘healthy people,’ though, I’ve got news for you…”

“He seems reasonably well-adjusted.”

“Actually… okay, yes. But I don’t think he’s winning any gold stars or brownies for explicit communication, either. I don’t know what he and Yasha are doing, exactly, nor do I want to, but… I have a strong bet on mutually satisfying consensual sex. So, not really my business. Anyway… Tony’s parents died when he was in his early twenties. Maybe this puts a different frame on things, but the fact is that he spent years of his life turning them into whatever kind of metaphor or allegory his brain could conjure, and I don’t think having someone to blame is actually that helpful right now. You never really bury your parents… trust me, I know. But there’s a lot about Howard Stark that has nothing to do with how he died, and I get the feeling that’s more relevant to Tony right now than what the Soldier did or what HYDRA ordered him to do.”

James considers that quietly for a moment, breathing deeply in Bruce’s arms and finishing off his mug of tea. “You know… I don’t have parents. I don’t have a family. Neither does Yasha.” 

“I know,” Bruce replies softly. “But give it time.” 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recovery is complicated, and that multiplies when you're wanted for war crimes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'all's comments are giving me life. And parts of this chapter are pretty tough, so please read the warnings and take care of yourself. If you dislike being spoiled a bit by warnings and are comfortable ignoring them, then here, have some asterisks, just scroll to the story. Promise next chapter contains multiple pairing cuteness, porn, AND feels to make up for it :-)
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> CW for: depersonalization, government officials having power over people's lives (I feel one has to warn for that these days), discussion of torture (not super graphic, but straightforward mentions of specific acts, fairly brief), self-harm (non-graphic / interrupted, but dealing with related psychological states).

Fortunately for both Bruce and everyone else in the Tower, the Hulk never emerges from his sleep. If he did, the whole living situation would be untenable, as Bruce has nightmares often, and it’s not like he can predict them. He wakes in a cold sweat, blinks a few times, and then pushes his way out of the mental fog of  _ fear _ and  _ not fast enough _ before it can drag him back down. He sits up and presses his hands to his face for a few seconds, then pushes to his feet and heads to the elevators with a sigh. He has a kitchen in his apartment, of course, but it’s a ritual to get tea on the common floor after a nightmare, the change of scenery helping him to detach from whatever horrors he dreamt of. And sometimes another insomniac is up there too, offering additional distance.

Sure enough, when he arrives, he spots a figure standing by the long wall of windows, just a shadow in the dim lighting. Bruce doesn’t ask JARVIS to turn the lights up, but he’s pretty sure the man registers his presence, anyway. It’s Barnes—which one of them, he’s not sure yet—so he approaches from the side, careful, several feet of distance between them. Barnes doesn’t turn, doesn’t acknowledge him. He’s trying to come up with the best way to ask when the man speaks, in a completely flat affect Bruce has never encountered before.

“Request mission parameters.” 

_ Oh _ . Bruce blinks. The Asset stands perfectly still, boots slightly apart, arms in parade rest. He could be Yasha, except for the fact that Yasha pretty much always  _ glares _ , and this man’s eyes are perfectly blank. And the voice, of course, eerily like a robot’s. 

“There’s… no mission,” Bruce answers, gently as he can. The Asset is silent for a few moments, then speaks in that same dead tone.

“No current mission objective. Require new objective.” 

Bruce remembers something in Dr. Adeyemi’s reading materials about non-human alters, how alters sometimes take the shape of what the abuser wanted, the child’s imagination trying to please the abuser to protect itself. HYDRA wanted a machine, so Barnes made them one. Bile rises in his throat, and he has to just breathe for a moment to claw consciousness back from the other guy, who wants to  _ smash _ everyone involved. The Asset doesn’t speak again, but Bruce notices the faintest, barely detectable tremble of anxiety. He frowns and thinks quickly of how he might manage the situation. 

_Ha._ _In your dreams, Banner_.

“Your mission is to answer some questions for me. Honestly.”

“Mission acknowledged.” The Asset turns, then, faces Bruce, still in parade rest, expectant. Bruce takes another deep, calming breath.

“Tell me… what’s the protocol when you  _ don’t _ have a mission?”

“Respond to command sequence. Confirm compliance. Receive mission parameters.”

“Oh.” Bruce frowns a little, realizing that he’s talking about what they did to him after  _ thawing him out _ , which is more than a little unsettling. “And after the mission is complete? What’s the protocol then?” 

“Return to exfiltration point. Await orders. Comply.”

“Right… okay. And… who am I?” Bruce asks, not sure he wants to know whether the Asset recognizes him. 

“A handler.” Bruce is tempted to disagree, but isn’t sure if that would make the Asset violent, and doesn’t want to find out. Feeling a little sick, he keeps going, trying to keep his tone gentle, at least, non-threatening.

“Do you know where you are?”

“No.”

“Okay… okay. You’re in the Avengers Tower, in midtown Manhattan. You’re safe.” The Asset blinks and stares at Bruce. Okay, fair, safety, maybe not a concept he should expect this particular alter to understand. He wishes he had asked Dr. Adeyemi questions to prepare for this possibility, that any of them had. He’s going to have to wing it. 

“All right. I have a new protocol for you. It’s… a secondary protocol, that you can use by default, whenever you don’t have an active mission. Do you understand that?”

“Yes.”

“Great.” Bruce thinks for a moment, carefully planning his words, not wanting to accidentally cause confusion or authorize violence. He feels like Asimov rewriting the laws of robotics, and wishes he had a week to think on it. But the Asset is standing there, expectant, so he barges on. “The first part of the protocol is to maintain your body to an optimal condition. That includes food, water, sleep, and exercise. If you have any questions on how to follow this part of the protocol, you can ask them out loud, and JARVIS will answer you. He’s an artificial intelligence, and he can respond from anywhere in the building. The second part of the protocol is not to physically harm any of the Avengers. Do you know who the Avengers are?”

“Yes.”

“Good. That’s your default protocol then. Maintain the body, don’t harm the Avengers. Otherwise, you have discretion over your activities.” 

Another blink, but the asset doesn’t actually contradict him. “Protocol acknowledged.” 

“Okay.” Bruce offers him a gentle smile, then nods at the windows. “Do you like the view?”

The Asset turns again, stares out over the skyline, and is quiet for a moment. Bruce is about to leave him be and go brew some tea when he finally responds, in a voice a shade quieter than before.

“Optimal.”

Bruce smiles.

~*~

“Hey. How’d therapy go?” Steve asks, knowing he’s not supposed to pry, but unable to help himself, when James starts up the indoor climbing wall next to him on Steve’s third run of the thing. It goes all the way up to the high ceiling of the gym, and there are plenty of challenges on the most difficult course, enough that Steve actually falls off half the time. That doesn’t stop him from trying again, though, nor does he bother using ropes. 

“Good. She mostly wanted to talk about the Asset.” James starts in on the third-hardest course, stretching his body out long to reach a grip, and Steve can’t help but stare just for a moment. His climbing style is much more fluid than Steve’s, unhurried but highly competent. “Did Bruce tell you they met night before last?”

“Yeah. We had a debrief. Just… so the rest of us would know what to do if it happens again. We’re still not totally sure how safe he is,” Steve explains, twisting his body a bit awkwardly to reach out with his foot, and then adjusting when he spots an easier route up. “Is that weird?”

“Not to me,” James assures, grunting as he pulls himself up a bit higher. “I mean,  _ he’s _ fucking weird. Do what you want.”

Steve ponders that a moment as he puts his effort into making it up a tricky inverted section. Holding himself at such an angle doesn’t cramp his hands like it might if he were just a normal guy, but it is enough to offer some pleasant soreness in his fingers. He heaves himself up over the angle and pauses for a moment at a comfortable spot, considering the next steps. “Out of curiosity… how do you know? You don’t really… talk, do you? Or do you?”

“Nah.” James scrambles up a few feet higher, and Steve is totally looking at his ass, but he can disguise it as attentive listening. “He reads our journal, though. For intel. Never writes anything, but sometimes he fronts in our room, to read it. Yasha doesn’t mind. I think it’s fucking annoying.” 

“Huh.” Steve tugs himself up a bit higher, though James is still ahead of him. “That would piss me off, too,” he admits, and James laughs. 

“From what I hear from Sam, most things would piss you off,” James teases. “He says you’re like a bag of chips with extra salt.”

“I don’t even know what that means,” Steve grumbles, then reaches for a grip, fumbles with his foot, and is suddenly landing on his back with a  _ whump _ on the mats. 

“Okay?” James calls down, and only when Steve gives the thumbs up, just a bit winded, does he bust up laughing. Steve rolls his eyes, pushes to his feet, and chalks up his hands for another run.

~*~

The first cabinet-level meeting regarding the Barnes System’s legal status passes smoothly, without major incident, which should be Tony’s first red flag. It’s a full day of conversation, presenting evidence, and Dr. Adeyemi explaining the long-term consequences of torture for Barnes’ mental health, but no one in the room is particularly argumentative. They ask relevant questions. At the end of the day, the tide seems to be turning in their favor, though they do want to meet Barnes in person. Afterwards, Tony buys them all drinks in a K Street cocktail bar and then takes his private jet back up to New York. He spends the entire flight strategizing with Dr. Adeyemi, Pepper, and three partially-read in lawyers. 

For the second meeting in DC, James accompanies Tony in the jet. Steve wants to come, but pretty much everyone tells him no. Sam wants to come too, and pretty much everyone agrees it’s a good idea. Steve is pouty, but Tony’s used to that pout, and he doesn’t budge. The fact is, they don’t know who’s going to be present in that conference room, nor do they know if that person will  _ stay _ present. But if it’s James, then Sam will be a grounding presence, and as a counselor who works with vets, he at least has a plausible reason to be there. If it’s Yasha or Winter, then Tony himself will be a friendly face. Steve isn’t really going to do much of anyone good, and Tony lets Sam explain that to him because sometimes he’s not an asshole.

Tony’s sort of expecting Yasha to show up, though given the fact that none of the higher-ups present will pose an immediate physical threat (sure, one of them commands armies, but armies are  _ slow _ ), he also won’t be surprised if James sticks around. On the plane, they go over what the people they’ll be meeting know and don’t know—Dr. Adeyemi had described extreme dissociation, but not the full nature of the alters—over a game of chess. James is getting better, thanks to Bruce, but Tony still trounces him. He’s a good loser, and when they’ve said all they can say about what to expect in the room, he turns to asking Tony questions about engineering, which is surprising enough. They actually arrive to the meeting in a decent enough mood.

After some softball questions, though, the SecDef opens a leather portfolio and slides it across the table. Neither Tony nor Sam recognize the photos—generic-looking old white men in suits, Tony thinks one of them  _ might _ be an intelligence officer he’s met, but he can’t be certain—but in between them James goes suddenly very still, staring at the folio. Under the table, his hands twitch, and Tony has to hold back the urge to reach out and grab one. After a moment of blank staring, he speaks in a slower tone than before, halting. 

“I’m… sorry. Can you… repeat the question?”

Tony and Sam catch each other’s eye, just for a moment, and the shared sentiment is obvious.  _ Shit _ .

“Do you recognize any of these men? Are their faces familiar?” The SecDef repeats, a little impatient. 

“Yes,” Winter says softly. 

“Can you describe the nature of your relationship?”

Winter reaches out and points to the first photo. His voice isn’t accented, but he chooses words less confidently than James. “He was a… handler. The main handler. For a long time.”

“How long?”

“I don’t know.” Winter frowns. “I can’t remember.” 

“And the others?”

He points to the third photo. “Also a handler. More… junior? I think. I don’t know the others.” 

“What did being a ‘handler’ entail?”

“Handlers give… orders,” Winter says softly, still staring at the photos. “Handlers must be obeyed at all times.”

“Were there consequences to disobedience?” the Attorney General asks. 

“Yes.”

“Such as?”

Winter looks up, then, and meets the AG’s eye. He straightens up a little in his chair and relaxes slightly—consciously imitating James, Tony realizes, his heart breaking just a bit even though that’s what they’d agreed upon as a strategy. “Pain. Always pain. The methods varied.”

“A description would be helpful.” 

Despite his attempt to imitate James, Winter goes a little blank as he responds. “Beatings. Knives. Electricity. Burns. Drowning. Breaking bones.”

“... all right, thank you, that will be sufficient.” 

Winter doesn’t react, but Tony thinks he’s going to hurl. He wishes ardently for a quick end to the meeting. He doesn’t get it.

~*~

“A drink before you go, Stark?”

“No thank you,” Tony responds through gritted teeth, repressing the urge to punch the Secretary of Defense in the nose. They’re going to get the pardon. He has to behave himself until the President’s ink is on the page, but it’s a near thing. As if the long line of questioning from the AG about his years of torture wasn’t enough, interspersed with viewing photos of his scars and HYDRA torture equipment, the Secretary had the nerve to ask Dr. Adeyemi, right in front of Winter’s face, why Sargeant Barnes wasn’t more emotional about the abuse—should they consider that reaction suspicious?

Tony was going to  _ show _ that motherfucker suspicious, he resolved as he bundled Winter into a car, alone, letting Sam with Dr. Adeyemi and the lawyers share the second one. He might’ve growled a little when one of his legal team tried to follow them into the backseat, but he’s not sorry.

“Hey. You did it. We’re done,” Tony coos, reaching out hesitantly for Winter, not wanting to crowd him. When the man scoots closer on the seat, though, up until their thighs are touching, he wastes no time bundling Winter into his arms. “You’re safe,” he murmurs, kissing Winter’s hair. “No more pretending, Zima, sweetheart, I know who you are.” True, they’ve only had a handful of meetings, but Winter’s easy affection is kind of captivating, and Tony can’t help but feel close to him when he’s willing to come to the front. This is the first time he’s done so with anyone other than Tony, and a stupid selfish part of him just wants to hide Winter from the world entirely. 

“Tony,” Winter mumbles. “Ya v’poryadke.” 

“Hang on, one second, I got you,” Tony murmurs, digging his phone out and holding down the home button. “J, need some translation. Winter, can you say that again?” Winter repeats himself, smiling a little, and JARVIS prints a translation to Tony’s screen.  _ I’m okay _ .

“Oh,” Tony laughs, ruffling his hair. “Okay, that’s good, but gotta be honest with you,  _ I’m _ not. Those guys are vultures. Do you mind if I cuddle you for a bit?” Winter smiles again and says something half into Tony’s chest, which JARVIS dutifully translates.

_ I like cuddles. You know that _ .

“I sure do, beautiful. One of my favorite things about you.” 

Winter laughs.  _ I’m sorry it was hard. If it helps, it wasn’t so hard for me. It’s hard to pretend to be James, but… this is what I am. I always think of those memories. I think I’m like this because the memories would break down James, or Bucky, if they had to remember. I’m glad I can do that for them. _

He’s silent as the translation catches up, and then Tony squeezes him hard, kissing his hair again. 

“I know the memories are sort of why you exist,” Tony admits. “And I’m glad you exist. But I wish I could protect you from them too, somehow?”

_ I understand _ .

Winter tips his head up, kisses Tony once, gently, and ruffles his hair a bit, just like Tony does to him. It’s hard not to laugh, and maybe, as Winter laughs with him, that was the point.

~*~

The PR strategy Tony devised works surprisingly well, given that it’s Tony and anything to do with the press. After the White House announces the pardon, and the Avengers release their own statement (including a photo of Barnes standing with Steve in full combat gear), the reaction is largely sympathetic, with various veterans’ groups using the abbreviated story to raise awareness of POWs and the hashtag #YesSergeant trending on Twitter among the 16-25 female (and queer male) demographic. Of course, there’s speculation as to who exactly the newest Avenger, designation “The Sergeant,” might be, but no one suggests the wild idea that Cap’s best friend survived the war. It means he can’t really walk around in public unmasked, but most of the alters don’t complain about that. The real question is what enemies of the Winter Soldier might come after him, now that they know where to find him, but in naming him as an Avenger, the hope is that maybe they won’t quite be brave enough to try.

Logistically, of course, the whole “Avenger” thing raises some questions of its own. “What can we do to protect you, if something triggers a switch in battle? That’s a risk, right?” Steve asks, leaning on his hands at the head of a conference table. Seated closer to the middle of the table, between Bruce and Sam, James nods. 

“It’s always a risk. I don’t think it’s dangerous to me, though. When we were on the run, Yasha would sometimes have to switch out quickly. He can do it in an instant if we’re threatened. I can probably consciously let him front, too, most times, if I’m at the front and you’d rather have a heavy hitter than a sniper.”

“Out of curiosity,” Sam asks, “is that always going to be the distinction? You shoot, he punches?”

James laughs, brushing his hair back with his hands and leaning back in his chair. “He won’t  _ let _ me punch. And he shoots, but he’s not that patient.”

“And  _ how _ ,” Tony mutters under his breath across the table. Natasha smacks his shoulder.

“Yeah, Iron Man, nobody wants to know,” Sam snorts. “What if we need an extra sniper and he’s fronting for another reason? Should we just count you out in that scenario?”

James shrugs. “Put us in a perch, I’ll probably switch out eventually. I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“And what about the other alters?” Bruce asks. “Do you have any reason to believe that someone else might front in the field?”

James frowns. “You’re worried about the Asset.” 

“I’m… realistic.” Bruce’s tone is soft, and he rests a hand over James’ on the table. “You know I’ve hurt people in the field. I don’t want you to have to wake up to that.” 

“I can’t see why he would show up. He doesn’t seem to like people. Unless someone has the control words, and if that’s true… I’m sorry, but frankly, we’re fucked whether we go into the field or not. I don’t know if he would respond to them. I just… don’t know.”

“Okay.” Bruce smiles. “We want you on the team. We just want to be ready for whatever might happen.” James squeezes his hand, and then Tony cuts in.

“What about Winter? He’s been out a bit, lately.”

James shakes his head. “I honestly can’t see the situation where he shows up in the middle of the battlefield. Yasha would never allow it.”

“Good,” Tony replies with a little frown. He knows he’s overprotective of Winter, who like all of them is still over six feet tall and a hulking mass of muscle, but he can’t help himself.

“We’ll use your call sign in the field,” Natasha interjects. “Any of you can respond to it, and you don’t need to identify yourself if it’s not immediately relevant.”

“Or worry about being called the wrong name,” Sam adds.

“Convenient,” James smiles. “What about gear? Tony?”

“Oh,” Tony grins and rubs his hands together. “If we’re done here, then come into my lair, precious. I have treatses!” 

Everyone rolls their eyes, just a little, but Steve dismisses them. 

“ _ Wow _ , Tony,” James exclaims as soon as he sets foot inside the workshop-slash-labs. “This is amazing.”

“Oh. Right, you haven’t been in here yet, have you? Don’t you share memories, though?” Tony asks, tapping his forehead with his index finger.

“Sometimes. Yasha hasn’t shown me this space, though,” James explains, sounding a little distracted as he walks over to the robots and delightedly reaches out to pet DUM-E’s arm when offered. 

“Well, make yourself at home. I’ll tell you if you shouldn’t touch something.” 

“This is like… something from the future. I mean, I know I don’t have much of a concept of what’s current and what’s not, but… this is like something from the future, right?”

Tony can’t help but laugh fondly at that, tucking his hands into his jeans pockets and leaning against a worktop. “Yeah. It is. I mean, so is this entire building, but this space more so.”

“Oh, well sure.” James beams. “JARVIS is amazing on his own.”

“Thank you, Sir, you’re very kind.”

“But all of this… I’ve seen a memory of that Expo your dad did, but this blows it out of the park.” 

Tony carefully doesn’t react to the fact that  _ Bucky _ , apparently, is sharing memories in there, not wanting to scare him off, but he does note it for later consideration. “Yeah, well, I’ve had a few decades to improve on things. Did you want to see the gear? I have some visuals of rifle modifications, and then we can go check out the armory…”

  
~*~

“You showed James the workshop.”

Tony startles, but only for a moment, before he goes back to removing his clothing for the night, Yasha at his back in the enormous walk-in closet. “Yep. That doesn’t bother you, does it?”

“No. He enjoyed it.” Tony doesn’t hear Yasha approach, but he does feel the warmth at his back a moment before Yasha’s hands land possessively on his naked hips. He tosses the laundry in the chute and leans back into the other man’s bulk. 

“Good. You talked?” 

“No. He wrote in the journal earlier, before I switched out.” Yasha kisses the join of neck and shoulder, his mouth soft and warm before his teeth close down for a gentle bite. “I was reviewing before I came here.”

“Right. Anything interesting?” Tony opens the drawer in front of him and reaches for a t-shirt, but he’s not so inclined to get  _ less _ naked as Yasha twines his arms around him.

“Not really. I still… lose time, occasionally. But no clues.”

“Oh.” Tony frowns, rests his hands over Yasha’s forearms. “So whoever it is, isn’t writing.”

“Correct.” Yasha picks a spot a few inches out along Tony’s shoulder and bites again, harder this time, until he gasps. “Are you getting dressed for bed?”

“Yeah.”

“You should not.” Tony laughs a little, but acquiesces easily, dropping the t-shirt and letting Yasha drag him out of the closet. “I want my cock in your mouth,” Yasha purrs, and Tony can’t find it in him to object.

~*~

It’s only a few nights later when Tony’s rudely awoken with an alert from JARVIS. His brain is fuzzy, piecing together the information he’s being given, but it’s a self-harm alert, and so he rushes to the elevators in his t-shirt and boxers, before he’s fully alert. Barnes. His private elevator is the fastest. JARVIS cautions him to consider staying back and calling the rest of the team, or his suit, but Tony quickly disagrees, though he makes as much sound as he can in bare feet as he enters Barnes’ apartment to avoid catching whoever’s in there off guard.

As it is, the man doesn’t seem to even notice him, standing over the kitchen sink, drawing a long blade along his right forearm. The blood is alarming, but the placement and the volume don’t appear fatal, so Tony approaches slowly, holding his hands up. 

“Hey. What’s going on?” he asks, keeping his tone as soft and friendly as possible. The other man’s eyes flick up, then back to his task. The cuts are slow and precise, and Tony registers JARVIS warning him not to get too close, but ignores him, inching forward into the open plan kitchen. “Any chance I can ask you to stop doing that? Just to talk for a bit.”

This time, he doesn’t look up, but his voice is both flat and gravely, not like any of the alters Tony knows. “Deserve it. Didn’t finish my mission. Need punishment.”

“Okay, but I think the mission parameters have changed,” Tony tries, edging around the counter. “The old handlers aren’t in charge anymore.”

“Trick,” the alter bites out viciously, cutting deeper. Tony hisses in a breath, reaches for him slowly, keeping his hand in line-of-sight.

“Please? I won’t take it away from you, but could you just… put the knife down for a second? If you still think you need punishment, after we talk, then that’s your call.” Tony’s got no idea whether that’s the right approach, but he remembers the self-harm incident under Dr. Adeyemi’s care, the “persecutor” alter, and his system is spiking with adrenaline despite his calm manner. “JARVIS, don’t let anyone else in here without my order,” he adds, trying to convey an atmosphere of trust. “No alerts.” The alter blinks at him. 

“Punishment is necessary,” he conveys dully, though he’s stopped actively cutting himself, so that’s something. “Punishment is… clean.” 

“Yeah,” Tony replies gently, keeping still, except for the hand that slowly comes to rest on the alter’s bicep, not grabbing but trying to establish some connection. “I know it can feel that way. Any particular reason you needed to show up tonight?” he asks, trying to keep the man talking and still, if nothing else.

The alter snarls a little. “The others… they’re  _ stupid _ . They think they can fix things, they’re not… they don’t  _ know _ anything. There’s no  _ fixing _ .”

“Ah.” Tony frowns. “So you want to help them?” he suggests gently, wildly trying to recall whether there was anything about how to handle this kind of thing in the literature. Half of which he didn’t really read, of course, and he’s regretting it now. Bruce probably got all the way through the  _ footnotes _ .

“They can’t just  _ escape _ . They need to learn.”

“I get that,” Tony offers. “But they’re not here right now. They can’t do anything stupid. Just you and me. And… that sink is really a problem, at the moment. Do you think you could do something about that for me?” he suggests, taking a gamble that maybe an order to do  _ something _ might redirect the alter’s behavior, without calling attention to the harm itself. The cuts are already healing over, of course, even if the rivulets of drying blood are disturbing. The alter looks at the bloodstained sink and responds with a curt nod, reaching for the dish soap and a sponge and scrubbing it down aggressively. Tony stands at his side, silently panicking. When he’s done, though, the alter turns to Tony, expectantly, as if awaiting another order, and he improvises on the fly.

“I could use your help with something. I’m… under a lot of stress.”  _ NOT A LIE _ , his brain helpfully adds. “I need sleep, but I’m going to be… tense. I don’t think I’ll feel safe alone. Would you come with me?” The alter frowns a little, and his gaze shifts to the knife. “You can take that with you,” Tony adds, hoping he hasn’t completely lost his mind. But he remembers the mention of a “trick,” and he doesn’t want to make this alter feel out of control. If it’s on the nightstand, well, JARVIS can always alert him. 

The man looks at Tony, then at the knife, and nods, grabbing it by the handle and holding it at his side. “I will protect you.”

~*~

Tony barely sleeps. It’s not a surprise, but eventually he falls into something fitful, and when he wakes, the eyes of the man in his bed, watching him, are wonderfully familiar.

“Yasha,” Tony exhales in pure relief, and he rolls straight into the other man’s lap, arms encircling his waist, squeezing as tight as he can. 

“I wasn’t here,” Yasha says as his right hand comes to rest on Tony’s head. His tone has a hint of flatness to it, but it’s nothing like the persecutor alter. 

“No,” Tony admits, still clinging hard. “I’m sorry. I did what I could to help. What do you remember?”

“I was… terrified,” Yasha says, sounding as if the emotion is completely foreign to him. “I couldn’t get to the front. There was nothing I could do. But I couldn’t  _ see _ , either. Tell me what happened,” he adds, his tone deep and demanding. Tony can’t exactly blame him. He’d be desperate for information, too. He pushes up to a sitting position, though, so that he can look Yasha in the eye, and takes both of his hands. 

“I think what happened is why you’re losing time occasionally. You… well, someone was there. He was trying to hurt you.” Tony runs his thumb over Yasha’s forearm. Of course there are no scars, but the blood-stained kitchen knife is still on the windowsill, and he nods at it. “He said he deserved punishment. I didn’t know what the fuck to do,” he admits. “JARVIS notified me and I told him not to alert the others. I…  _ fuck _ . I hope I didn’t screw him up worse.”

“No,” Yasha says firmly, looking Tony in the eye and gripping his jaw with metal fingers. “Stop.”

Tony blinks down at the blanket. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know what to do. I let him bring the knife up here, I…”

“You had a reason. I know you. I trust you.” Tony nods, but to his total embarrassment he can feel his eyes starting to prick with tears. Yasha gathers Tony tight to his chest and not knowing what else to say, he goes. He feels like he could sleep for a year. And yet, all he wants to do is fix this.

~*~

There is a debrief. After thirty-six hours awake, Natasha frog-marches Tony to bed and promises to stay there until she’s personally watched him sleep through a couple of REM cycles. Bruce is relieved, because he’s got no clue what to do to help his friend, who of course won’t accept therapy or anything like it. At least Yasha and James  _ will _ accept therapy, several hours of it a day, and the rest of the Tower moves at its normal rhythms. Bruce is working on a project in the labs when James wanders in.

“Hey.” Bruce looks up and smiles. “Doing okay?” 

James nods, but he looks a little sullen. He comes over and stands next to Bruce, watching him work for ten minutes without saying anything. Eventually, Bruce tries again. 

“Wanna talk about it?”

“I don’t know who he is,” James says quietly, but with a deadly firmness to his tone that Bruce has never heard before, at least not out of him. He stops what he’s doing and gives James his full attention. “I do know that I would die to keep him safe.” 

Bruce frowns, but then he peels off his gloves and pulls James into a hug, which is all he can really think of to do. “For what it’s worth,” he offers, his lips against James’ neck. “We’ve got your back. And his. All of you. Me and… the other guy.” He doesn’t think he’s imagining it when James squeezes just a little bit tighter.

~*~

When Tony finally emerges, there’s another meeting. James is present, and he doesn’t really react when Steve brings up the topic of potentially putting a pause on their plans to incorporate the Sergeant into the Avengers. 

“Not as a punishment,” Steve clarifies quickly. “But we need to know that the team is safe in the field, and after this incident…”

“Steve, come on. This happened before. What the hell does it have to do with the Avengers?” Tony argues.

“It happened before in a medical setting, before he was released. I just don’t want to risk…”

“It’s okay,” James offers. “I’ll agree with whatever the team wants.”

“The team hasn’t agreed to anything,” Tony counters. “Cap, if an Avenger had to be psychologically stable to enter the battlefield, then we’d all be fucked. The doc isn’t grounding him, so why should you?”

“This is a  _ little  _ bit different,” Natasha argues. “It wouldn’t be permanent. Just some time to see how likely this alter is to emerge, and in what settings.”

“Tony does have a point, though,” Bruce offers. “He’s only shown up a few times, based on what Yasha told Tony about lost time. Only when alone, never in the middle of something. The odds seem extremely low… the odds of Winter showing up on the field are probably better, and we were willing to overlook those.”

“Sam? Clint? What do you think?” Steve asks.

Clint shrugs. “I’m not a shrink. If the actual shrink says go, then I say go.”

“I’m okay with it,” Sam agrees. “I’d also be okay with taking a break, though. James, do you really not have a preference either way?”

James shrugs. “I wouldn’t trust me, if I were one of you. But I do think I could be helpful to a mission. And I don’t think it’s a risk, for what my opinion’s worth.”

“It’s worth a lot,” Steve offers, his tone gentle when he’s directly addressing James. “Natasha? Are you comfortable with this?”

“Comfortable?” She smirks. “I’m rarely comfortable, Cap. But I’m willing, if we feel confident that the risk is minimal.” 

“All right, it’s decided, then. No change to the plan, Sergeant. You’re on the team.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stucky fans, your patience is finally rewarded! Also, Tony is into Yasha's murderswagger, and Steve basically plays middleman for "do you like me check yes or no" notes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So much love for commenters! If you've asked about or suggested a specific plot point or theme, I might not comment because I don't want to spoil, but you should know that some of your suggestions are already later in the story and others I am totally adding in where it makes sense. It's super fun to read comments on a story like this, since there are so many delicious, delicious fan theories.
> 
> CWs: implied serious abuse, dubious ethical calls (though it's about killing HYDRA people, so like, shrug?), consensual but not necessarily smart breathplay

The first few missions with James involved go smoothly, scattered over a period of a few months and none of them needing the entire team. Most of their work these days involves a rogue individual or two, sometimes a mutant or Inhuman and occasionally a sorceror or just someone with alarming tech. No alien invasions or giant underground Nazi organizations, which suits most of the team just fine. James is a competent sniper, and he doesn’t actually have to shoot anybody. 

In the meantime, though, there’s plenty of independent intelligence work to do, conducted by Natasha and JARVIS and occasionally Tony personally, related to the all-too-persistent remains of HYDRA. Yasha’s given them a lot of new information to go on, as much as he can remember of missions and handlers, and while a lot of it is old and no longer useful, it’s still enough to be a huge help in tracking down the organization’s remaining workings and identifying their patterns. Periodically, the team gets together to debrief and strategize, and while Yasha can be helpful when he’s present, he’s usually pretty quiet, James more so when he’s fronting. So it’s something of a shock when during one of these meetings, Natasha puts a photo of an Austrian businessman only loosely suspected to have connection to former HYDRA higher-ups on the screen, along with some information about his dealings, and James suddenly slides to the floor.

“Barnes!” Clint exclaims, reaching out for him but stopping his hand mid-air, not sure what’s going on or whether his touch would be welcome. He doesn’t seem to be having any kind of physical episode, the rapid blinking indicating dissociation, but he stays on the floor, and when his eyes dart up to the screen again, he rapidly shuffles backward, on his hands and knees, planting himself in the corner of the room. A sound escapes from his throat, a kind of high-pitched keening whimper, and the Avengers all exchange glances with each other, baffled by the new behavior. All except Tony, whose eyes stay locked on the man in the corner, sharply observing. 

“Barnes?” Natasha murmurs, her body still and loose a few feet away from his position. “You’re okay. You’re safe. He’s not here.” JARVIS thoughtfully blacks out the screen showing the man who seems to have triggered the reaction, but Barnes stays huddled in the corner, feet against the wall, face low near his hands, keening. 

“Shit,” Clint mutters. “New alter?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Bruce responds quietly, grabbing Clint’s upper arm and tugging gently. “Let’s give him some space,” he suggests, and everyone moves to the other half of the room, except Natasha, who’s still murmuring platitudes to try to calm him, and Sam, who has a thoughtful look on his face.

“Wilson? You have an idea?” Clint asks. 

“I might,” Sam admits, thinking back to all the reading materials on DID and crouching low on the ground, getting closer but still allowing some space as he holds his hand out slowly. “Hey. You’re all right. Just friends here.” Barnes eyes him, warily, still whimpering, but a little quieter. Natasha backs off, letting Sam run with his theory, and sure enough, after a few minutes of patience, Barnes crawls forward, halting, until he reaches Sam’s hand and sniffs inquisitively. After a thorough exploration with his nose, the man is quiet, and Sam slowly shifts to pet along the top of his head and down his spine. “Good boy,” Sam murmurs, feeling awkward as fuck but confirmed in his suspicion that this new altar must be an animal of some sort, probably a dog. “You’re safe.” He reaches to scritch a little behind Barnes’s ears, and this whimper is happier, more of a whuffing sound, as he pushes his head towards Sam’s chest. 

At the back of the room, Steve’s jaw clenches hard and he marches himself out, not trusting himself to speak. He doesn’t want to think about what might’ve happened to create this particular alter, a frightened animal that emerges in response to seeing a particular person’s face. He  _ really _ doesn’t want to think about some of their shared reading, how alters sometimes form in the shape of what they think the abuser wants. If the system created the robotic nature of the Asset to more generally satisfy HYDRA’s desires, what kind of handler might want a whimpering, obedient, beaten-down animal for an asset? That way almost certainly lies madness.

~*~

After several hours of emergency therapy, once James has re-emerged from the dog alter, the team regroups, but James is twitchy and apologetic, dissociating frequently. He explains that everyone is really chatty in his head, that it’s hard to focus, and Tony’s not surprised when they break up the confab and he finds Yasha an hour later, picking out gear in the armory. 

“I’m guessing this is about the new alter?” Tony asks, somewhat rhetorically, leaning back against the wall near the door and watching as Yasha disassembles and reassembles a semi-automatic. 

“I don’t know what happened to create him,” Yasha states in an even-sharper-than-usual tone, “but I am going to  _ murder them _ .” He puts the gun in a bag, along with several belts of ammunition, and Tony considers.

“Okay.” 

Yasha straightens up, blinks at him. “You’re not going to try to stop me.” 

“Hell, no,” Tony decides even as he says it. “But I am going with you.”

Yasha frowns, but goes back to his task, shoving knives into various crevasses in his tactical gear. “If you’re present, I will have to split my focus. It is a simple mission. One assassination. One associated base to clear.”

“Okay, but admit it, babe, you’re hella compromised right now. I’m not going to try to stop you, but I think you could use some loyal backup. Besides,” he adds, covering the distance between them and resting his hands on Yasha’s hips, dropping his forehead to rest between Yasha’s shoulderblades. “JARVIS can help us. You’ll need recon. Clearance for Austrian airspace. Somewhere to park the jet, and JARVIS can also keep your face out of any recordings so this little rogue mission won’t interfere with anything Avengers-related. Plus if you’re going to clear a HYDRA base, you know I’m good with explosives. I’ll take the stealth suit. No one else has to know.”

Yasha goes still, obviously considering it, and then turns in Tony’s arms, looking down at him with his eyes narrowed. “All right. But not if you’re going to insist on no kills.” That had been an important part of Avengers training. Aim to disable, not to destroy. Use minimum force required. It obviously wasn’t Yasha’s default mode, but he’d agreed easily enough.

Looking up at him now, Tony’s aware he probably looks a little super-villainy, that his own expression contains layers of dark behind the eyes. But he saw that alter just as well as anyone, knows what kind of abuse and grooming must have gone into his creation. He’s seen the files on everything HYDRA had done to Barnes and bothered to write down. And he knows what it’s like to go a little crazy in captivity, just as he knows what it’s like to end up in a fucked-up relationship with someone who wants you made irrelevant.

“I’m not Steve,” is all Tony says in response, though, and apparently that’s enough to satisfy.

~*~ 

They’re gone for two weeks. Tony hints heavily at an extended dirty weekend, with the team and with Pepper. He says Yasha’s more comfortable in a Quinjet than flying in Tony’s usual luxury. Whether that’s believable or not, he doesn’t particularly care. It’s his jet. He can do what he wants with it. With JARVIS’s assistance, the mission is clean and quiet. No one detects them entering Austrian airspace. They blow the base sky high and don’t leave evidence. And then, when the jet’s parked in a forest clearing in France, presumably so they can get a few hours of sleep before coming up with a cross-Atlantic flight plan, Yasha suddenly stalks towards Tony in the back of the plane like he’s hunting down a particularly tasty rabbit. Tony’s eyes go wide and his palms go up instinctively, which only drives Yasha to grab him by the wrists, using his hips to push Tony into the wall. 

“I was careful not to get their blood on my body,” Yasha trills in his ear, which makes no sense, but whatever, Tony will go with it.

“No evidence, yeah, good job.”

“Yes. But also, no contaminants.” He licks a stripe up Tony’s ear. “I knew I was going to want to fuck you after.”

“Oh,” Tony whispers, his body going tense with arousal. “I probably shouldn’t find that hot…” Yasha sets his teeth into Tony’s neck and applies pressure, so slowly, pleasure bleeding into pain. “Aw, fuck it,” Tony groans, and loses all pretense of morality as he reaches for the fastenings on Yasha’s pants. “Do me dirty, soldier, I’m in.”

Yasha snarls, rips away the bottom of the undersuit in a few strategic tugs, and bodily lifts Tony so that he has to wrap his thighs around Yasha’s hips to stay up against the wall. He’s still wearing his goddamned sneakers, he thinks deliriously as Yasha kisses him, a hand at his throat, his hard-on rubbing against the crease of Tony’s ass. He takes the biggest breath when Yasha just licks his palm for lube and lines himself up, but it’s slow, agonizingly slow, the stretch of each inch feeling like he’s being gored open. Yasha keeps eye contact the whole time, the intensity in his gaze daring Tony to look away. He doesn’t, of course, but he can’t keep his mouth shut, little whimpers and cries of pain as Yasha slowly seats Tony on his cock. 

When they’re fully joined, he doesn’t start out fucking hard, thank God, just little shifts of his hips that bounce Tony against the wall, and that probably shouldn’t be as arousing as it is, but with all the strength in Yasha’s arms and his hips Tony feels like a rag doll, like a war prize,  _ to the victor go the spoils _ , and he keens high in his throat when Yasha murmurs “mine” and nails up into his prostate. As the pleasure takes him in a haze of adrenaline and endorphins, Yasha starts really fucking him, and then he’s suddenly much closer than he realized. His dick’s getting rubbed raw against the tac vest but he doesn’t really care, because Yasha’s hand is closing around his throat and everything’s going just a little bit grey before he comes like a siren of pleasure bursting through his body, and then Yasha releases his hand and Tony’s gulping in oxygen, slumping in Yasha’s arms, shaking in aftershocks. 

Yeah, Rogers is gonna be pissed off about this whole thing if he finds out, but Tony can’t bring himself to care.

~*~

Somewhat to Steve’s surprise, he and James have been able to start sparring regularly without Yasha popping up unannounced. Maybe that’s because Steve isn’t actually quite as good as James hand to hand, without his shield, but he’ll never quite admit it. They’re at least close to evenly matched, and it’s nice to let loose and really go at it with someone in the ring. Also, it’s good training, actually getting him tired, even if Yasha is the more likely one to be present in a fist fight. 

The fifth time Steve ends up on his back, though, he raises a hand up, laughing as he calls for a break. James grins and flops down next to him in a lazy sprawl, leaning back on his forearms. “You don’t have to look so smug about it,” Steve mutters, gasping a bit as he gets his air back from the punch that had winded him. James smiles, but his eyes go a little vacant, and Steve gives him a moment, waiting to see whether a switch is happening. It’s only a moment, though, and when he’s back to normal James’s smile turns a little sad. 

“Okay?”

“Yeah,” James seems hesitant, but then he continues, and Steve’s breath catches in his throat at what comes next. “You used to breathe like that. But much worse,” he explains, his tone soft.

“You…” Steve pushes up to a sitting position, almost afraid to hope. “Is Bucky…?”

“I got a flash of a memory,” James explains. “He gets close to the surface, sometimes, when we’re around you.”

“Oh my God,” Steve whispers, and he’s mortified to feel tears pricking at his eyes, just a sting of salt around the corners. 

“It’s okay,” James murmurs, scooting close, wrapping his arm around Steve and squeezing. “Yasha wouldn’t want you to know, but I don’t see why not. It’s… better than him being gone, yeah?”

Steve nods hard, leaning into James. It hurts that he can’t actually  _ be _ with Bucky, but the idea that he’s there somewhere, watching Steve, sharing memories with James, makes his heart a little lighter. 

“Do you talk about him, ever?” James asks, keeping Steve tucked up against his side despite the fact that they’re both warm and sweaty. “With anyone?”

“Not much,” Steve admits. “A little with Sam.” 

“It might help. You can tell me about him, if you want. I’d like to hear.”

Steve laughs, a little dry. “He lives inside your head.”

“Sure,” James smiles. “But I wouldn’t mind hearing things from your angle, some time.”

Steve considers it. “All right. I… might like that.”

~*~

In addition to the sparring, there are team training exercises, practicing maneuvers with the shield and Tony’s suit and getting various team members around the field, which is handy when the full team gets called out on their first mission, involving a group of weirdo scientists and terrorists teamed up in Detroit. The Avengers get called in because there are reports of alien artifacts involved, and although that turns out to be a false alarm, they do have a  _ lot _ of muscle, guys who aren’t afraid to take hostages in the middle of a city. The whole thing is messy and has to be very carefully strategically coordinated, taking all of their combined skills and smarts to handle. James picks off a number of targets from up high, aiming for shoulders and kneecaps, though he does drop one guy with a kill shot when he’s about to shoot Natasha in the back. 

They debrief on the plane, which is one benefit of being an independent initiative—no hours-long SHIELD meetings with required paperwork in triplicate. Though there’s still paperwork, courtesy of Steve, it’s shorter and more there as a CYA than anything else. They keep documentation of all their missions, in case of legal challenge, since they’re operating in a very grey area. 

Back at the Tower, it’s after dinnertime, and Tony makes sure there’s Chinese food waiting for them in quantity when they arrive. Everyone is a little zombie-faced as they dig in and then head off to bed one by one, until the only two left are Steve and James, indulging their super soldier-sized appetites. Halfway through a box of lo-mein, Steve realizes James is staring at him, and gives him an inquisitive look as he slurps down a mouthful of noodles.

“I had a thought.”

“Yeah? Want to share?” Steve smiles, and James reaches down the sofa with one socked foot and nudges him in the thigh.

“Would you want to go on a date with me?”

“What?” Steve sputters. “I mean… yes, I would, but you… I didn’t know you…”

“Dated?” James’ expression is now terribly amused. 

“I guess.” Steve blushes. “I am normally much smoother than this.”

“No, you’re not.” James snickers. “I like spending time with you. I know you like men. So…” he shrugs. “Why not? Our date options are kind of limited with my whole secret identity thing, but I think we could make it work.”

“That’s not really what I’m worried about,” Steve admits. “Uh… I know you’re not the same person or anything, but… if you go on a date with me, does that mean Yasha’s kind of cheating on Tony? Cause I think Yasha would murder me.”

“Oh my God, no, that makes no sense,” James laughs, and bites off half an eggroll. He looks speculative though, as he chews. “But… if monogamy is a big thing for you, that’s probably good to put out there. I think I might be polyamorous.”

“Uh…” Steve scratches the back of his neck. He honestly hasn’t thought about dating at all since he emerged from the ice, unless prompted, and even then it quickly leaves his mind. “I have no idea what that is.”

“Oh,” James smiles. “Polyamory. It’s when you have the capacity to love multiple people. Or have multiple relationships. I’ve been reading about it. I think that might be me.”

“Huh.” Steve frowns. “I… don’t really know. I haven’t heard of that before. Are you saying you want to date other people? And me at the same time?”

“Maybe.” James shrugs. “I kissed Bruce.”

“You did?!”

“Yeah,” James goes a bit pink, grinning to himself. “It just kind of happened. I don’t know. I’m comfortable with Bruce. But also I think you’re hot. And that doesn’t really… cause conflict, in my head.”

“Wow.” Steve finishes off the carton of noodles as he thinks about it. “I mean… I want to go on a date with you. And maybe… I could have some time to think about it? Like whether the idea of dating you and knowing you might date other people bothers me? I’m not the jealous type, Bucky used to take girls out all the time, but…”

“That was different,” James finishes, his expression full of understanding. 

“Yeah.” Steve shrugs. “It was just what you did. I guess now, I  _ could _ have a relationship with a man, and it could be exclusive, but… I haven’t really thought about that either, honestly.” He makes a face. “Natasha was trying to set me up for a while, but she stopped.” 

“Well, no pressure. I’ll put on my sexiest ballcap and shades and buy you an ice cream. We can see where it goes.”

Steve laughs at the image and squeezes Bucky’s ankle. “Okay. It’s a date.”

~*~

The next mission is only a four-man operation, with James on sniper duty watching exits as Steve and Natasha do reconnaissance on a small building on the outskirts of Philadelphia. They’d gotten a tip-off about HYDRA activity but if it’s anything, it’s small, something Cap and the Black Widow should easily be able to handle if there’s a problem. Normally, Clint would be up high on the other side, to give them full coverage, but Tony in position gives them both eyes on that side of the building and someone to hack into security feeds while JARVIS simultaneously uses their local wifi to snoop through all the on-site harddrives. Given the nature of the tip, they think there might be useful data stored here, maybe information about other bases.

Everyone’s focused on their part of the mission, and things seem to be going relatively well, with Steve and Natasha both inside the building without being spotted and JARVIS making progress on the data mining. That’s true, at least, until they hear a low voice in the background of their comms channel, breaking the relative silence.

“Zhelaniye.” 

“ _ Fuck _ ,” Natasha mutters. “It’s a trap, trigger words, blow cover!” she adds as a couple more words of Russian are audible over the comms. 

Tony’s eyes go wide behind his faceplate and he’s in motion before his brain has fully caught up. Trigger words. HYDRA. Barnes has done some work on the words in therapy, but they still don’t know whether the words will bring the Asset out, or someone else, and if they’ll have any way to break through if they do. He doesn’t hear any more words as he banks around the building at speed. Are the comms cut? 

Tony’s panic, however, is short-lived. As he approaches Barnes’ position, JARVIS zooms in the view and he stops in the air for a moment, hovering, not even sure if he can do more help than harm. Barnes— _ Yasha _ , Tony quickly evaluates—is moving too fast to get a shot off if he needed to. His mask has been ripped off, but he otherwise appears unharmed. He drops three clearly-skilled fighters before Tony can make sense of the situation, and then he’s grinning at the other three behind them. He’s still grinning as he quite competently murders them.

“Stark, do you have eyes on the Sergeant?” Steve demands through the sound of blows and heavy breathing. “Report!”

“Uh… yeah.” Tony kind of wishes he could adjust himself in the suit. No more goons come up the stairs to Yasha’s position, and he just launches himself out the window, right past Tony, as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. “The words… I think they triggered  _ Yasha _ .”

“Meaning what?” Natasha asks, her own breathing only slightly less labored. “Is he hostile?”

“No,” Tony replies, absently, as he watches Yasha stalk towards the door of the target building, where a few more men in tactical gear are taking position with machine guns. Yasha isn’t smiling anymore, just moving inexorably forward with the grim determination of a predator you wouldn’t want to piss off. Before they even start firing, he chucks a knife straight into the left eyeball of #1, at a distance Tony didn’t realize it was possible to throw knives. When the shots do start, he runs in a zigzag, metal arm held up in front of his face, and reaches #3 in less than three seconds, before Tony has time to charge a repulsor beam. He shoots #2 with #3’s gun, and then kicks down the door to head inside. 

“Tony! A little more detail on the situation? Please tell me you’re not just standing there perving on your fuck buddy killing people,” Natasha mutters. Tony swallows and swings around to cover the other side of the building, only a little embarrassed. 

“I’m into his murder swagger. So sue me.”

“Stark!”

“He’s coming in hot from the Northeast entrance,” Tony clarifies, descending on a couple of fleeing operatives with his palm repulsor raised.  _ Head in the game, Tony. And you know, preferably, not that one. _

~*~

After the mission gone awry, there’s some measure of relief that the Asset cannot, apparently, be externally triggered, whether or not he’s loyal to HYDRA. There’s also some confusion about how the hell HYDRA managed to get the drop on James, but Yasha does clarify that it was a single agent, that he came to the front after a brief moment of paralysis when the trigger words were used, and the next two only emerged after his attack. They think the team must have been using some kind of technology to keep James from hearing their movements, something new. JARVIS offers analysis of the data recovered from the site, but there’s nothing useful. Instead, there’s a rather taunting message Tony doesn’t have a chance to tell him  _ not _ to share, identifying this setup as revenge for the assassination of the Austrian, and things quickly unravel from there. 

“What the hell were you thinking?!” Steve exclaims, as soon as he’s got Tony alone. He’d had a few choice words in front of the team, of course, but he’s smart enough to realize that there’s only so much he can yell at Tony while Yasha’s in the room without causing an unfortunate incident. 

“What was I going to do, tell him no?” Tony retorts, his own tone calm and mostly tired as he leans back against a wall of the small conference room Steve’s cornered him in, crossing his arms. 

“You could’ve told us. Or at least tried to convince him to follow protocol. You didn’t have to go  _ with _ him on some sort of vigilante mission without the support of the team! You said you were on vacation, Tony, Jesus.”

“Yes, well. You didn’t want to know, Cap.”

“The hell I didn’t.”

“Steven. You didn’t. Want. To know.” 

Steve frowns, knowing there’s something Tony’s leaving out. “You have to give me more than that.”

“Why do you think we went after that particular base? That particular asshole? Steve, you couldn’t even stay in the goddamned room when he suddenly turned into a kicked puppy. You  _ know _ that piece of shit did things to him that neither of us want to hear, and that he needed to pay for it. And you  _ also  _ know that you wouldn’t ethically have been able to sanction that kind of mission. Sometimes someone needs to do the dirty work.”

Steve takes a deep breath. 

“Were there any survivors?”

“No.”

Steve is quiet for a long moment, then looks Tony in the eye. “Good.”

At that, the tension in the room deflates, and Tony lets out a sigh. “JARVIS, delete any recordings of the last five minutes.”

“Already done, Sir.”

“Does Yasha… know?” Steve frowns. “What happened with… that person?”

Tony shakes his head. “Not specifics. He knows other things though, more general memories that Winter shares with him. It’s not really personal, I don’t think, it’s just… protector mode. He wants to murder the sons of bitches on Winter’s behalf. He doesn’t have the memories like they happened to him.”

Steve nods. “I guess that’s… good. Good for James, too.”

“Yeah. He’s been letting James hang out with you more, huh?”

“Yeah.” Steve blushes. “Actually… I wanted to ask you something. About that.”

“Oh?”   
  


“James… asked me out. On a date. He said Yasha would be okay with it, but would that bother you? Me dating James, since you and Yasha are…”

Tony’s smile goes sharp. “Steven, Steven, Steven. You sly dog.”

“Oh, shut up.”

“Nope. Can’t make me. But no, I don’t care if you go get laid with one of the other guys in that body, not really relevant to me. Just, y’know, fair warning...” He holds his hands apart, indicating a measurement, and whistles. Steve rolls his eyes and takes that as his cue to leave the room.

~*~

James teaches Steve how to dance. It takes a lot of insistence, and a little bit of bribery, but eventually he’s awkwardly making his way through a basic swing step, encouraged by the sweet sound of James’ laughter and the gentle clasp of his hands. JARVIS has a playlist cued up for them, songs of the appropriate tempo, and Steve’s about to suggest a breather when the track switches. But then James goes still, reaching up to rub his head, and Steve waits patiently, giving him a little bit of space until he can tell whether it’s a switch or just dissociation. He has the stray thought that the song is a bit familiar, just before…

“Steve?” A tense body, confused blinks, blue eyes quickly scanning around the room. “Steve, where the fuck are we?” A tight frown. An old Brooklyn accent.

“Buck,” Steve whispers, his mouth gone dry, his own limbs frozen. 

“Yeah, Stevie, where the fuck am I?” Bucky’s eyes keep darting around the room, pausing on the wide flat-screen television mounted on the wall. “I feel… kind of hazy,” he adds, taking a few steps back and sitting on the sofa, rubbing at his head. Steve sits next to him, wordlessly, just staring. “Something’s wrong, isn’t it?” He frowns at Steve. “Something feels… really wrong.”

“It’s… okay,” Steve manages, reaching out with a hand on Bucky’s knee. “It’s really okay.” His smile bursts wide in spite of himself, and Bucky looks at him like he’s a few screws loose of a full set. “A lot has happened but… I’m right here, Buck. I’m with you. You’re okay.”

“Stevie?” Bucky frowns, covers Steve’s hand with his own. “What’s going on? You’re crying.” Steve just laughs, and Bucky’s frown deepens. “Steve, why the hell are you crying?”

“I just… I haven’t seen you in a long time, that’s all,” Steve murmurs, leaning in and pressing their foreheads together. Bucky tenses up, at first, his eyes darting to the side, and Steve immediately recognizes the vigilance for what it is. “Shh. We’re alone. No one can see,” he promises, and then Bucky’s body relaxes, his hands coming up to cup Steve’s face.

“I don’t remember,” he whispers. “I don’t remember where I’ve gone.”

“I know. It’s okay,” Steve promises, his arms coming to encircle Bucky’s waist. “Fuck,” he laughs. “I am so unqualified to explain this. What… what’s the last thing you do remember?”

“I… it’s all scrambled.” Bucky sits back up, but leaves his hand on Steve’s, their thighs pressed together. “There was… the drop near Colmar. And… we stole some munitions from a barn, was that before or after?”

“After.” Steve keeps his tone gentle as Bucky tries to piece things together, but then he reaches to brush his hair back and has a start.

“Steve, why is my hair so…  _ fuck _ , did those assholes get me again?” Bucky’s eyes go wide, and then Steve’s kind of laugh-crying, because yeah, that might actually be the easiest way to explain it.

“Yeah, Buck, but you’re home now. You’re okay. They had you for a long time, but… you’re home,” Steve declares, and then he can’t help but press a soft kiss to Bucky’s mouth, because he’s been wishing for this  _ so hard _ , and he doesn’t know how long he’ll have the chance. Bucky’s hand digs into his thigh, and he accepts the kiss without complaint.

“This… doesn’t look like home,” Bucky murmurs against Steve’s mouth, but he’s calmer.

“No… they had you for a really long time. We’re… kind of in the future,” he admits. “Way in the future. I know it’s overwhelming, it was for me too when I woke up, but we can go slow…”

“Wait,” Bucky interrupts, his voice hard but his eyes sparking with fear. “They got you, too?”

_ Oh _ . “No, Buck. No, they didn’t get me,” Steve reassures, reaching up to run his fingers through his hair. “I came around a different way, but… honestly, there’s a lot to explain, and I don’t know how much time we have, and we’re safe right now… do you mind if I just hold you a bit?” It feels like begging, and Bucky hesitates, obviously wanting answers. But he must see something in Steve’s eyes, because he nods and leans in, and Steve shifts his legs up on the sofa, tugs Bucky into his arms, and kisses his again, like he’s something precious. 

~*~

He has Bucky for just shy of two hours. Bucky starts complaining of phantom headaches, his head feeling “loud,” and then the switch happens and it’s Yasha on the sofa. They detangle themselves, Steve feeling awkward and also incredibly raw, like Yasha can see all his insides and he  _ doesn’t want that _ , but he’s loathe to say anything that might make Yasha think he can’t be trusted with Bucky. So he just sits there, silent, as Yasha looks him over. 

“He really loves you. You know that.”

It’s not a question, so Steve doesn’t treat it as one. “Yes.” He rubs his fingers together, thinking of the soft texture of Bucky’s hair.

“You’re the center of his world.” 

“I was,” Steve agrees. 

“You  _ are _ ,” Yasha corrects. He frowns a little. “Have you ever thought that maybe that’s why it’s not that way for James?”

Steve frowns, tugging his brain out of the mud to actually consider the question. “You think… James isn’t monogamous because of Bucky?”

“Maybe.”

Steve ponders that, and then feels suddenly a little cold. “Oh.”

“What?”

“If Bucky… I mean if he’s ready to… be here…” Steve’s careful not to phrase it as an assumption, that Bucky will keep coming back, not wanting to give Yasha any reason not to trust him. “What does that mean for me and James? Should I not…”

Yasha looks at him like he’s stupid. To be fair, that’s how Yasha looks at him 70% of the time. “Ask Bucky, if you get a chance. Not my problem.”

“Okay. I guess I deserved that.” Steve frowns. “I have a question. I know you might not answer, but… it’s been bothering me.”

“Ask.” 

“Do you remember… was it Bucky, on the helicarrier? Did he come to the front for a second? He  _ knew _ me, wouldn’t that mean...”

“No,” Yasha shuts him down quickly, but he doesn’t seem particularly driven to be unkind. “He wasn’t  _ there _ . But… I think he broke through, somehow, to stop the Soldier. I think he gave the Soldier a memory, maybe.”

“Oh.” Steve nods, feeling not quite satisfied but still glad for the truth. “Thank you.” 

Yasha shrugs, and Steve expects he’s about to go, but stops him. 

“You said I’m the center of his world. You know that feeling, don’t you?” Yasha narrows his eyes, but doesn’t stalk out, so Steve presses on. “You feel that way about Tony.”

“Yes.”

“Does he know?” 

Yasha makes a derisive sound. “Does it  _ matter _ ? I don’t get to come out just because I feel like it. My  _ world _ is limited, by necessity.” 

Steve frowns. “I’m sorry. I know… Tony’s not the most monogamous person in the world.”

“It’s fine.” Yasha shrugs. “I don’t expect him to fall in love with 20% of a person.” His voice is sharp, though, protective, Steve thinks, and he’s abruptly sure that Yasha  _ wishes _ Tony would. “Just don’t talk about anyone else he fucks. It’ll make me crazy.”

“Uck,” Steve agrees. “No arguments from me.”

“Fine.” Yasha pushes to his feet in one movement, and leaves Steve’s apartment without saying goodbye. It’s only after a few minutes that he realizes how his date with James was cut short by all of this, but somehow, he doesn’t think James will mind.

~*~

“Hey, Stark. Can I bother you with something?” 

Tony looks up from his workbench and fixes Steve with a grin. “If I pointed out that you’re always bothering me with something, would it stop you?” His tone is affectionate, though, and Steve just rolls his eyes. 

“I need a sounding board, and I’m not really sure who to ask. I thought you might not mind.” 

“Yeah, okay, Spangles, do your worst.”

“Have you heard of polyamory?”

Tony actually looks surprised at that, and lets out a low whistle. “Sure, but I’m kind of curious where  _ you _ heard about it.” Steve blushes, sits down on a rolling stool, and pushes himself back and forth a few inches with his feet before he answers. 

“James. I don’t think it’s a secret. But he thinks he might be.”

“Huh. Okay. And you’re dating him.”

“We’ve gone on a few dates,” Steve agrees. “He also told me he kissed Bruce.”

“ _ Really _ ?” Now Tony’s actually interested, and puts his tools down, leaning forward with his palms on the worktop. “I actually didn’t see that coming.”

Steve laughs softly. “Yeah, me either.”

“It makes some sense, I guess.” 

“They’re close.” Steve shrugs. “He asked me how I felt about it, and I couldn’t say. It doesn’t make me jealous, really, but I looked it up on Google and it seems… complicated.”

“Google is not wrong. Plus, there are about a million different ways to do it, and you don’t know what he wants unless you ask him. Three-person relationship? V? No strings attached?” 

Steve frowns, not understanding all the words, but he doesn’t think it’s all that important. “He wants to go on dates. And he doesn’t want to stop kissing Bruce, if the opportunity comes up. I don’t think  _ he  _ knows much more than that.”

“Well what about you, then? What do you want?”

“I’m… not sure. I thought, maybe, a relationship. He’s the first person I’ve thought about that way in a long time, mostly because he asked. But then… Bucky showed up. A few days ago.”

“Oh, shit.” Tony’s soft, understanding. Steve’s smile is a small, quiet thing.

“Yeah. And if he wants what we had before… well, without all the dames for cover, I guess, but if he wants me to be his best guy…”

“You’d stop dating James in a heartbeat.”

“That makes me sound like a jerk.”

“Nah. I think it’s reasonable, given the circumstances. You’ve only just  _ started _ dating James. But Bucky also might not care, given the circumstances. What did he think of the whole… alter situation?” 

“He doesn’t know,” Steve admits, reddening again. “I thought, when he was sharing memories with the others, that he was doing it consciously, but it doesn’t seem like it. He didn’t know where he was or what had happened. I… didn’t know how much time we would have.”

“So you didn’t tell him.” Tony frowns. “You’re going to have to, if he shows up again.”

“I know.”

“And then you can ask him. About James.”

“I guess.” Steve isn’t terribly excited about the prospect. “Tony, are  _ you _ polyamorous? I should’ve asked.”

“Not exactly.” Tony shrugs. 

“But it still doesn’t bother you, if I’m… intimate with other people who are sharing Yasha’s body?”

“Why would it? They’re different people. And also, I’m not exactly  _ dating _ Yasha. I’m pretty sure he’s not going to ask to, like, make it official,” Tony smirks. “He’s just in it for this fine piece of ass, but I don’t mind.”

“Are you sure?” Steve frowns. “I… didn’t get that impression.”

“Trust me, Steven. No one wants a committed relationship with Tony Stark. My monogamy or lack thereof is therefore pretty irrelevant.” There’s something about the way he says it, straightforward but with a kind of confidence that makes Steve think there’s something more fragile underneath. He hesitates a bit, pushing the stool back and forth, and then barrels forward.

“That’s not what he told me.”

“Excuse me?”   


“He’s so possessive of you,” Steve explains. “It seemed pretty obvious to me. But he confirmed it. Verbally,” he adds, before Tony can claim that Steve misinterpreted. “He wants you to be  _ his _ . But he doesn’t think he has the right to ask, cause he’s… 20% of a person, were the words he used.”

“Shit,” Tony whispers. “Way to drop a bomb, Cap.”

Steve shrugs, and stands from his stool. “I thought you should know. I’ll leave you alone, now, though.”

Tony doesn’t object, he’s too stunned. As soon as Steve’s gone, he collapses back into a chair, re-running Steve’s words, imagining Yasha saying them. He thinks about Rhodey’s red flags, and the way Yasha just  _ takes _ like it’s his right. And yet, here, somehow, he doesn’t believe he can. There’s something deeply wrong about that. And then there’s Tony, who never promises exclusivity, who treats dating like a tournament sport. Tony, who hardly ever dares to think about monogamy because it feels like a futile thought exercise for someone with his reputation, with his trust issues. And yet... 

_ Fuck _ , he thinks, adamant in the center of his chest where all his secrets live.  _ I want to belong to him. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realized I should maybe explain this specifically since it may be confusing: in DID, which is the closest thing to what Barnes has, it is fairly common for non-human alters to exist. Sometimes these are animals, robots, fantasy creatures, etc. These non-human alters are sometimes (but not always) formed because it's what the person subconsciously thinks is necessary at the time of the abuse (for example a protective animal, or a submissive archetype, or a creature that can easily get away). The alter may be non-verbal or express as the animal/creature/entity would. In this story, both the new alter in this chapter and the Asset are versions of this phenomenon.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James probes further into his identity as an alter, James and Steve get to have a whole entire date to themselves, and the confessions from last chapter come to a resolution. In other words, romance is in the aaaaiiiirr...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: character being annoyed at the timing of a DID switch, brief/vague description of therapy
> 
> I've had some questions about pacing and what's coming, so just to update y'all: I will continue making every effort to update each weekend. The weekend of the 14th I'll update either early or late, though, as I have travel plans. I have two more chapters fully written, and I just started a five-week sabbatical, so I feel reasonably good (touch wood!) about my ability to keep up this pace at least through the end of the year. As far as what's planned for length, I have four more chapters after chapter ten that are fully outlined, as well as a handful of additional ideas. The last one outlined wouldn't make sense as an ending, so there will be at least fifteen total chapters, perhaps more. Given the nature of this verse with its many tangled storylines and relationships, there's not one obvious arc that has a natural ending, so I'll just have to feel out the best place to conclude. But rest assured I have no plans to abandon the story or anything! Also, pretty much all the characters, relationships, and threads thus far explored I plan to continue working with, so those who have a favorite character or ship, don't worry too much if a particular chapter doesn't include them! We'll keep alternating as we go :-)

“Do you know what asexuality is?” James asks, seemingly apropos of nothing. He and Bruce are relaxing in the hot tub, face-to-face, their legs touching in the center.

“Are you asking in scientific terms referring to animal reproduction, or human identity terms?” 

“The second one, though it seems like maybe yes to both.” 

Bruce smiles a little at that. “Yes, and yes. Any reason for asking?”

James tips his head back against the side of the tub, closing his eyes. “I think I might be. I’ve been reading online, about different identities. It started with polyamory, and then kind of… branched.”

“Ah,” Bruce smiles. “You fell down a research rabbit hole?”

“Yeah. But asexuality makes a lot of sense. I think it’s a good word for me.”

“You don’t experience sexual attraction, then?”

“Not really. I have feelings for people, but they’re romantic feelings, not really sexual. I think most of the libido in the system got concentrated in Yasha, maybe a little bit left over for Bucky, cause of who he was before. I’m just… not really interested.”

“Any particular feelings  _ about _ that?”

“I think it’s okay. But maybe… not if Steve wants to keep going.” He frowns. “I know he had sex with Bucky. Before.”

“Well. You’re not Bucky,” Bruce points out reasonably. “He might be assuming that you like sex, but that’s on him, not on you. You can tell him upfront, or you can just let him know when you get to the point where you want to stop. That’s your choice.”

“I know.” James smiles, opening his eyes, and slides around the bench, next to Bruce. “I liked kissing you, though. Could we do that again?”

Bruce can’t help but laugh, gently, at the directness, and rather than a verbal reply, he takes James’ chin in his hand, bringing their mouths together. James is a slow, languid kisser, and in contrast to the last time, which had only lasted a few seconds, they stay together for a while, lazily exchanging kisses. Warm and relaxed, there’s no hurry to any of it, and when eventually the kissing tapers off, James stays half-curled against Bruce’s chest, as much as he can anyway with the buoyancy of the water. 

“I feel kind of bad that I disappeared on my last date with Steve. He got Bucky, then Yasha, and I never came back.”

“Well… I think he knows that’s not your fault. Also, disappearing for Bucky, he ought to bring you flowers or something.”

James laughs, kissing gently behind Bruce’s ear. “Maybe. He still isn’t as comfortable with the switching as some of you are. Tony especially. He’s… almost  _ weirdly _ calm about it.” 

“Oh,” Bruce laughs. “Well, he’s had practice. He’s the same way with me, when I come back from the other guy. Nobody’s mean about it, or anything, but Tony doesn’t even seem to register that he should find it disconcerting.”

“I heard he started poking you with metal tools the first day he met you. Is that true?”

“It was within thirty minutes,” Bruce smirks. “Fortunately, I have much better control than that. He’s a reckless idiot sometimes.” 

“Only sometimes?” 

Bruce laughs, and James is beautiful, and he can’t help but kiss him again.

~*~

For all Steve’s fretting over how to explain alters to Bucky, the next time he shows up, it turns out he doesn’t have to. James invites him over for dinner, and as they’re digging into a very competently executed beef bourguignon, he admits that they used the positive musical trigger to coax Bucky out in therapy (with Yasha’s approval), so that Dr. Adeyemi could explain to him. They used the journal, apparently, with several alters writing Bucky letters in advance that he could respond to. Steve can’t help but feel a little relieved that an actual mental health professional did that job, so that he doesn’t have to.

“I’m sorry if this is shitty, but… I wasn’t necessarily sure you would explain things. Or that you could, even. This seemed easier,” James explains, taking a sip of his red wine. 

“It’s not shitty.” Steve frowns. “I  _ would _ have tried, but… it is easier. How did he take it?”

“I wasn’t watching, so I can’t tell you directly. But he wrote back to each of us. It seems like he thinks it’s fucking weird, but he’s coping.” James smiles and slides an envelope across the table. “He wrote you a long letter, too. But read it later, maybe?”

“Sure,” Steve agrees, pushing it to the side so it won’t get any food on it by accident. Of course he’s dying to know what’s inside, but they’ve already had one date interrupted by Bucky. Steve was raised with  _ some  _ manners, despite what Bucky used to surmise in that arena. “Thank you.”

“Of course. You can call me, after, if you don’t want to be alone.”

“I appreciate that.” Steve smiles, a little wistful. “I’m trying not to have expectations. But I spent nearly fifteen years of my life in his company, constantly. He was just  _ there _ , I mean I never even thought of losing him until his unit was taken at Azzano. Even when he went to the front, I was more concerned about how I could join him there than the possibility that he might not make it back. I always assumed we’d marry other people, but I also figured we’d spend a lot of time together, maybe live in houses side by side… Those two months, after he… fell… I didn’t know who I was. And then I woke up and  _ really _ didn’t know.”

“Do you think you have a better idea, now?”

“I do.” Steve takes a bite, considering it. “The first few months were really hard. And when we found out about SHIELD… I put a plane down to stop HYDRA, you know? I thought I had. And it turns out that was really naive.” He sighs. “I’ve learned a lot, being friends with Natasha. You can’t just trust everyone.”

“No,” James agrees. “But I still think it’s nice that you want to. Better trust and find out you were wrong than not be able to in the first place.”

“Mm. I’m not sure Tony would agree with you.”

James shrugs. “I don’t know all that much about Tony. Or Natasha. But I like that you trust me. I trust you, too.”

Steve smiles. “I do trust you. And Sam. And the rest of the team. That’s mostly it, but small circles are okay. I never was the most popular kid on the block.”

“Steven Rogers? No,” James feigns shock, a hand over his chest.

“Listen,” Steve laughs. He takes another bite, savoring the taste of the sauce with the beef and mushrooms. “Hey, this is really good, by the way. You’re a way better cook than I am.”

“I hear that’s not a very high bar,” James teases. “But thank you.”

“Sam needs to stop telling tales,” Steve grumbles. “But also that’s kind of true.”

“And yet, you besmirch the good name of EZ Mac.”

“EZ Mac looks like it might be flavored with something radioactive,” Steve counters. “I may not be a good cook, but I have good  _ taste _ .”

“Uh-huh. You of all people should know not to judge a book by its cover. You haven’t even tried it!”

“And yet somehow, I don’t feel that I’m missing out…”

James snickers. “I’m gonna dare you. Sam also says you don’t back down from a dare.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Exploiting my weaknesses. And people say you’re the nice one.”

“Do they?” James’ smirk is flirtatious, and it’s similar enough to one of Bucky’s expressions that Steve has to breathe very deliberately for a second. “I don’t know about  _ that _ .” His eyes are twinkling as he takes another sip of wine. 

“Okay, I concede. You’re a dastardly villain.” Steve’s tone is soft, fond. “Absolutely up to no good.” 

“That’s more like it, Rogers. I have to keep my reputation in tact, after all…”

~*~

After a day full of SI meetings, Tony’s first priority is a shower. His second priority is clean, comfortable clothes, so he heads to his closet, and is a little baffled to open a drawer and find all his t-shirts filed like folders in a cabinet, folded and arranged vertically, something he definitely didn’t do. He stares at the drawer for a minute, baffled, wondering if the robot who delivers the laundry has started taking initiative, when there’s a soft clearing of a throat behind him.

“He’s obsessed with some book about tidying,” Yasha says, and after a moment it clicks, and Tony’s smile is terribly fond.

“Winter was here.”

“This afternoon. You weren’t around, so…” Yasha gestures vaguely at the shirts. 

“...he KonMari-ed my wardrobe.” Tony snorts and pulls a worn t-shirt over his head, sweats up over his hips. It’s not too surprising. Sometimes Winter shows up in the workshop, and though he doesn’t have James’ awe at the futuristic work going on there or Yasha’s focus on the weaponry, he does enjoy organizing things. Sometimes Tony purposefully doesn’t put things away, now, so that Winter can do it. 

“I don’t know what that means,” Yasha admits, and Tony just laughs as he walks out of the closet and into Yasha’s arms.

“Not important.” He pushes up onto his toes, gives Yasha a kiss, but doesn’t linger. “Hey. I’ve been waiting for you to show up.”

“Do you need to be fucked?” Yasha asks, matter-of-fact, and Tony shivers all the way down his body.

“Well, now that you mention it…” Tony glazes over for a moment, his skin heating up at the idea of Yasha classifying it as a  _ need _ , like Tony can’t go more than a few days without getting plowed, “...but no! Not that. I want to talk to you about something.” Yasha raises his eyebrows skeptically, which is fair, because Tony almost never  _ wants _ to talk, but he’s persistent, steering Yasha to sit in an armchair and arranging himself in Yasha’s lap. “I talked to Steve.”

Yasha frowns. “What did he do?”

“Okay, that’s actually kind of refreshing,” Tony laughs. “For someone to say that about  _ Steve _ , and not me… but no, he didn’t do anything. He just… I really hope he got this right, or else I’m going to look like an idiot, but… he thinks you might want me. Not just in a sex way. He thinks you might want to  _ have _ me. As yours.” That’s not how Steve put it, of course, but that’s how Tony thinks of it, a hand stroking down Yasha’s chest. 

Yasha frowns. “I’m not asking for more than you can give.”

“Well I’m telling you… that if you want to ask… fuck, I’m bad at this. Look, you know how, that first time, you just… took me? Like you were allowed to do that. Like I belonged to you. And it should’ve pissed me off, maybe, but it felt… like you were something I’ve been waiting for, and I just didn’t know it. I feel like… I’m already yours in every way I can be,” Tony admits, quiet, twisting the fabric of Yasha’s shirt a little between his fingers. “And I didn’t think you’d  _ want _ that, me like that, but if you do… I mean, as long as I’m still allowed to cuddle Winter, and stuff, I’m not uncomfortable with monogamy. I know everyone thinks Tony Stark’s a big slut, but none of that means anything to me. It’s not even true, in recent years. But you… you’re true,” he admits, feeling like he’s just peeled back all his skin and exposed himself to Yasha.

Yasha, for his part, doesn’t speak. He just stares, and stares, and then he’s blinking and shaking his head a bit from side to side, and Tony’s eyes go wide. 

“Okay, seriously,  _ now _ ?” he blurts out, because normally he’s great about switches, but this is just a little bit unexpected. 

“Sorry,” James smiles a little. “Not sorry.”

“Rude,” Tony mutters, pushing up to his feet. “I don’t know if you were paying attention, but we were  _ kind  _ of in the middle of something…”

“I know.”

“Okay, so what, my emotional confession was just so abhorrent that he threw you in the mix to avoid it?” Tony exclaims, trying not to get mad, but  _ seriously _ . He feels like one long split-open nerve, and he’s a strong person, sure, but a little validation wouldn’t go amiss after a declaration like that.

“No,” James replies patiently. “He’s not the only protector in our system, Tony.”

“So you’re… what, cockblocking me? Relationship-blocking me?”

“Not necessarily. But he isn’t used to dealing with feelings like this. He has… emotional vulnerabilities. His job is to protect the body, but I don’t think he’s exactly… equipped to handle emotional threats. He doesn’t know how to handle them in a healthy way.”

“Oh, so I’m a threat now?”

“I don’t mean it like that. He just doesn’t know how to evaluate whether you are or not. He’s not used to feeling vulnerable. Or… getting what he wants, really.”

“Great,” Tony grumbles, sitting on the edge of the bed, trying not to feel too hopeful at that last bit. “You know, I wish I had someone to sub out for  _ me _ when I don’t want to talk about my feelings,” he quips.

James laughs at that and leans forward, forearms on his knees. “I’m not necessarily trying to stop you. I just want to understand. I think… you just literally offered Yasha everything he wants, on a silver platter. You have no idea how…  _ fierce _ he is about you. I’m pretty sure he’d just ferry you off to some secret bunker and hide you from the world if he honestly thought he could get away with it. I don’t think he trusts what you’re saying, that you’re willing to be his. Or even… that he’s allowed to have something like this, that he gets to be important to someone else in the way you’re talking about. It’s too good to be true.” 

“Well… I think it’s too good to be true that someone like  _ him _ exists, who wants me the way he wants me and doesn’t need to talk about it,” Tony says, a little pointedly. “And I don’t really want to tell you all the details, cause honestly, some of it is fucking private.”

“That’s fair,” James concedes. “I just want to understand what you want from him. What your expectations are.”

“I want exactly what I told him. To be exclusive. For it to be more than just a sex thing. If he really does want…”

“Tony. Trust me. He  _ wants _ .”

Tony shivers a little at the intensity in James’ gaze, and he nods. 

“Okay. Then I want all of it. I’m seriously fucking throwing myself on the line here, James, I don’t do this,” Tony says, talking a little too fast and fidgeting with the bed linens. “I don’t know if I’m any good at it, and I’ll probably fuck up, and so maybe you  _ should _ evaluate me as too much of a threat. Maybe that’s what’s best for him. Everyone knows I’m bad at relationships.” 

“Screw  _ everyone _ . What do you want out of a relationship with him?”

“I want to know that I’m his,” Tony admits, his voice gone quiet again. It feels so strange to be pouring his heart out to someone who’s for all intents and purposes a casual acquaintance, but if that’s what he has to do to have Yasha, then that’s what he’s going to do, despite the discomfort. “I want to know it in a way that I can’t doubt it. I want to rely on that, even if he’s not actually here all the time. I want to believe that I’m the most important to him, outside of the system. And I know that sounds like a fucking five year old, but hey, emotionally traumatized narcissist here, my therapist can give you references.”

James’ smile is kind, and Tony only looks at him for a second to avoid the possible pity there. 

“Okay, Tony. Give me a second. Come sit in my lap again, it’ll help.” 

When Tony looks up, James’ eyes are closed, and he feels extremely awkward as he places himself again across the bigger man’s thighs. They don’t switch like this often, though, at least as far as he knows, at least not outside of therapy. James rests his hands on Tony’s body, and he suddenly realizes,  _ positive trigger _ , and can’t help but smile at that idea. It’s several minutes of quiet, before the hands on him suddenly tighten, and Yasha’s eyes blink open.

“You’re…  _ mine _ ,” Yasha rasps, looking as shocked as Tony’s ever seen him. “Really?”

“Really, really,” Tony grins, and kisses him on the mouth. “All yours, gorgeous.”

Yasha makes a sound, a kind of growl in his throat, and kisses back hard, gripping Tony like he’s afraid he might run away. “Sorry,” he mutters in between kisses. “I didn’t know he would… take over like that.”

“It’s fine,” Tony reassures him, his whole body flooded with relief at the way Yasha clings to him. “He has your back. But this is better,” he adds, sucking greedily at Yasha’s bottom lip and making a delighted little sound when Yasha grips the back of his neck. 

“I can’t believe you want to be  _ mine _ ,” Yasha murmurs, pulling back a little to look into Tony’s eyes as if he’s searching for the lie there. “I thought I was just your… standing date.”

“Oh,” Tony laughs. “Well. My feelings… evolved. I didn’t really know to want anything more than that,” he admits. “General rules of the dating game, play it easy, no one gets hurt, but.” Tony shrugs. “I guess I forgot to follow my own rules. You’re obnoxiously compelling.” 

“Good. I always wanted you to be mine, so no change.” Tony grins and Yasha slips his tongue into Tony’s mouth, keeping Tony braced firmly with the metal against his neck. Tony has a feeling that even if that’s true, the meaning of “mine” has probably evolved from base instinct to something else over time, that Yasha himself has evolved, but there’s no need to point that out now. They make out for a while in the chair, time going a little hazy as Tony slips into the subspace he often lives in with Yasha. Eventually, Yasha tucks Tony’s head under his chin, stroking his hair.

“You’re beautiful. And I’m tired,” Yasha admits. “Too much switching today.”

“Aw.” Tony hugs him tight around the waist, nuzzling at his neck. “That’s all right. Do you need to go? Or lie down?”

“Not sure. Dissociating,” Yasha explains, and Tony falls quiet, letting Yasha pet him and decide whether he wants to talk more. Tony’s starting to drift off when Yasha speaks again. “Being primary protector… is exhausting, sometimes.” Tony blinks at that, not something Yasha would normally admit, but he recognizes it for what it is, a trade of an honest emotional confession for his own, earlier. 

“I bet,” Tony murmurs reassuringly. “Maybe you don’t need to always take the full burden on, though,” he suggests. “I mean, James just showed me that he’s got his own protective side. It doesn’t have to be all you, all the time.”

“Perhaps,” Yasha murmurs, and Tony squeezes his waist. “James has an easy life, though, for the most part. I want him to be able to have that.” 

“Maybe. But life’s pretty complicated, no matter who you are. I know he’s the most… normal-seeming… but he’s still got stuff going on. And he obviously cares about you.” Yasha nuzzles the top of Tony’s head, but doesn’t answer. “All right. C’mon, big guy. You’re exhausted, and my back is starting to hurt. Bedtime, yeah?”

“This is okay?” Yasha asks, even as he follows Tony out of the chair. “Sleep without sex?” 

“Absolutely.” Tony grins and presses a kiss to his mouth. “Welcome to the world of serious relationships, buddy. I’m gonna go brush my teeth.”

When he comes back, Yasha is naked under the covers, stretched out along one side of the bed. Tony curls up next to him and slots in easily, his head tucked against Yasha’s chest. It shouldn’t be comfortable, especially without the usual post-sex haze, but Tony’s always slept better with a partner, whether or not he cares to admit it. He slings his arm across Yasha’s stomach and wriggles a bit, getting comfortable, before he lets his body succumb to sleep.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not every Avengers mission can go smoothly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Re: pairings in this fic, I've been getting about an equal amount of comments from folks who love Steve and want things to be Steve-centric and folks who are meh on Steve and want all Tony all the time. I love both! (Hell, half the time, I'm writing them with each other.) So expect the balance to continue, hopefully there's enough of each to satisfy both camps. Also apologies for any anachronistic phrases when Bucky's out that wouldn't have existed by the 1940s, I'm really not up on my historical slang!
> 
> CW: canon-typical battle violence

When James ends up sleeping over in Steve’s apartment after they stay up far too late watching movies, it seems sort of backwards—they’ve barely even kissed, after all—but at the same time, easy and comfortable. James isn’t Bucky, and Steve has to be very firm about this in his head whenever a moment of James’ charm makes him think of how Bucky used to be, way back in the 30s. He’s letting James lead, decide when to escalate things physically. But he’s still easy to be around, and nothing’s awkward when they snuggle together and drift off to sleep. That’s why it’s more than a little surprising when he wakes up, the sun higher in the sky than usual, to an open mouth on his chest. His hands shift instinctively, one threading through long soft strands of hair and the other resting over a metal bicep. The latter clears the dreamy fog from his head pretty quickly, and he blinks down to find clever eyes smirking up at him, teeth closing over his nipple.

“Ah! Buck…”

“Morning, Stevie,” Bucky murmurs, terribly cocky, before he returns to the hardened nub and sucks. Steve gasps and tightens his hand in Bucky’s hair, his mind a whir of confused thoughts but his dick plumping up predictably under the covers. 

“Jesus, Buck. That feels so… mmm…” 

Bucky’s hand has found his erection, and gives it a squeeze, his tongue still flicking against Steve’s nipple. “Missed you,” he murmurs against Steve’s skin.

“_ God _, yes, you too,” Steve agrees, cupping the back of Bucky’s head and scratching just below the base of his skull the way he used to love. “Baby, I’m not sure I can hold off,” he warns, thrusting into Bucky’s hand without much control. 

“Well let me at least get your dick in my mouth, Rogers, I wanna take advantage of all this privacy,” Bucky grumbles, squeezing Steve hard to hold him off as he scuttles further down the bed, pulling the sheets with him. Steve hadn’t slept naked, of course, with James, but his sweats and underwear are easy enough to pull down, and Bucky leaves them at his knees, restricting his movement as Bucky settles in and takes Steve onto his tongue for the first time. 

Steve whimpers. He’s not even ashamed, really, because Bucky’s mouth is heaven, and it’s been a really long time since he got a blowjob. And Bucky’s right—their shared apartment may have technically been private, but the walls were paper thin, and they never knew who might stop by. Here, he can groan as loud as he wants as Bucky hollows his cheeks and sucks him down, fondles his balls, strokes his perineum with a cool metal finger. Steve _ might _ last sixty seconds. But hey, he warned the guy. 

Bucky’s eyes are flashing with humor, but he doesn’t seem upset, holding Steve at the join of each thigh to his ass and riding the thrusts of his hips as he comes down Bucky’s throat. When he’s finished, Bucky still licks until Steve is making pained sounds, and then a little longer, before he climbs back up and straddles Steve’s chest, his own sweats discarded somewhere at the end of the bed. “Still not used to you, like this,” Bucky admits, breathless as he kneels over Steve and takes his own cock in hand. Steve stares up at him, almost reverent, his hands finding the backs of Bucky’s thighs and petting at him aimlessly. “So…. big.” The embarrassment must show on Steve’s face, perhaps tinged with shame, because Bucky scowls at him and presses his free hand down flat on Steve’s chest. “It’s not a goddamned complaint, Rogers,” he growls, hair falling in his face, and Steve wants to assist but also can’t help but stare up at Bucky, looking so fierce and beautiful and powerful. 

Bucky jerks himself off with a familiar pace, one Steve had listened in on long before they actually got together. He knows the hitches of Bucky’s breath intimately, the way he adjusts his grip and speeds up just before he comes. That rhythm shows up in his dreams, just as much as the old Brooklyn accent does, the one that none of the other alters use. Steve opens his mouth and extends his tongue to catch the first few spurts of fluid, and more lands across his cheek, down his neck and the top of his chest. Bucky stares down at him, greedy, and gives himself a few final strokes before he sits back and smears his hand over Steve’s shoulder. 

Steve just smiles up at him, and he’d happily take about a hundred comeshots to the face if the reward is seeing Bucky like this again. “Hey, Buck,” he murmurs a bit dopily, and Bucky laughs, shakily dismounts, and comes back to the bedroom a moment later with a wet cloth. 

“You look like a whore, Stevie.”

“You complainin’?”

“Nah,” Bucky grins all wicked, swiping away most of what’s dirtying Steve’s skin but then pushing a bit at the corner of Steve’s mouth in with his flesh thumb, letting Steve suck for a moment. “Just sayin’. Maybe I should take pictures and charge. You got a camera around here?”

He’s not serious, but Steve reddens all the same. “In my phone, yeah,” he says, soft, and he’d probably let Bucky if he really wanted to. At that, Bucky’s expression shifts a bit, and he tosses the washcloth on the floor, sliding back into bed and tugging Steve into his arms. It’s a completely different fit, sure, but Steve’s determined to make it work just the same. 

“Camera _ inside _ your phone? That’s almost as mad as… well…” Bucky makes a vague loopy gesture at his own head. “...me.” 

Steve frowns, kisses his chest. “You’re not mad. You went through… a lot.” He’s not actually sure how much Bucky knows, or is supposed to know, but fortunately Bucky doesn’t dwell on it. 

“Maybe. But I still have actual, honest-to-God voices in my head. I think one is Russian.”

“Yeah,” Steve smiles. “Do you want to talk about them? We can.”

“Not really.” Bucky shrugs, petting Steve’s hair. “They get way more of you than I do. It hardly seems fair.”

“Oh.” Steve frowns. “We don’t have to, but just one thing, I should ask… you know about James. I read your letter.”

“Sure. Normal enough fella, given the lot of them.”

“Is it okay with you? That he and I are… dating?”

“Yeah, Stevie. It’s okay.” He kisses the top of Steve’s head, strokes the top of his spine. “I mean, it’s super weird, don’t get me wrong. Part of me wants to tell him to fuck off sniffing around my best guy. But I can’t be here much. And I want you to be happy.”

“I’d be happy waiting for you,” Steve argues, frowning where Bucky can’t see him.

“Sure,” Bucky snorts. “Cause you’re a natural martyr. But I won’t let ya.”

“Jerk,” Steve grumbles. 

“Punk,” Bucky responds cheerfully. “He doesn’t even go past second base, far as I know. I got somethin’ just for me.” He stretches an arm down to squeeze Steve’s ass, and Steve bites the nearest skin a bit in retaliation, but his mind also supplies him some images of what Bucky might like to do to that ass alongside the new information about James, and he’s not going to object. 

“You’re a nymphomaniac,” Steve mumbles, even as his cheeks go red again. Bucky laughs and squeezes harder.

“Like you mind, sweetheart. When’s the last time you got laid, anyway?”

“You know that just as well as I do.”

“Really? Huh. That’s… I think I like that,” Bucky admits, his voice going serious. “Guess I figured, what with all the superheroes in the building, least one of em’s gotta be bent enough…”

“They’re my _ friends _, though.”

“Uh huh.” Bucky snickers. “I’m your _ best _ friend, stud, what’s that say about me?” 

“That you’re a nymphomaniac,” Steve repeats, licking a stripe of skin. “Anyway, it’s not… I mean we fight together, sure, but…”

“Oh, and that’s another thing. The doc explained to me that I don’t get to be around all the time, because of a bunch of shit in my brain, but it’s kind of bullshit that I don’t get to fight with you.” Bucky squeezes Steve tighter, whether consciously or not Steve couldn’t say. “I mean it’s not like I fought on the fucking European front or anything. I’m a trained sniper, not a child.”

“I know that,” Steve reassures him. “Yasha’s just… really protective. I don’t think he always cares about logical argument, but I’m starting to understand him a little.”

“I think he’s the voice I hear the most, when I’m out. It feels like he’s _ letting _ me out, which I do not fucking appreciate,” Bucky declares pointedly, as if Yasha can hear him. Maybe he can, in a way.

“I wouldn’t either,” Steve says gently, wanting to side with Bucky but also not wanting to piss Yasha off enough that he switches out instead. “Maybe… even if it’s not to fight, we might be able to think of some positive triggers for you. Like, things that will help you come to the surface. It was music the first time, and it worked in the doc’s office. Maybe there are other things?”

“Maybe.” Bucky goes back to petting his hair, quiet as they think. “We can’t exactly go to a ballgame, can we? I bet Brooklyn doesn’t look the same, neither.”

Steve cringes, thinking of Dodgers Stadium, but quickly comes up with another idea. “Food, maybe? I could think of some foods that the other alters haven’t tried. Scent is supposed to be a powerful memory trigger, too.” 

“Right,” Bucky snorts. “Just find a perfectly preserved K-ration, that’ll bring me out puking.”

“I was thinking more like chipped beef, or that fruit salad your ma used to make. Some of the fruits taste different now, though.”

“Really? The future really is strange,” Bucky muses, and Steve sighs a little, snuggling closer into his arms. 

“Yeah. No kidding.”

~*~

Bucky’s second visit has Steve in a stellar mood for a week, and everyone notices. He and James keep working their way through a queue of movies JARVIS curated for them, and some days James joins Steve and Sam on their runs, wearing a bandana, shades, and a ballcap as a casual version of his combat disguise. Steve and Natasha spend time together going over strategy for their long game against HYDRA, and he’s even pleasant to Tony on the occasions when the man emerges from his workshop.

Unfortunately, though, it’s hard for anyone to stay cheerful when a small but mighty ship carrying about forty alien creatures crash lands in Buenos Aires. Varying in shape, but all heavily armed and armored, the aliens go immediately hostile, killing nearly two hundred civilians and first responders and securing several city blocks before the Avengers can scramble and make it to Argentina. Tony’s first, testing their armor and their weaponry with some targeted repulsor attacks, but he quickly retreats when he discovers that their weapons have some sort of laser technology combined with advanced targeting. He focuses on providing additional surveillance for the quickly-assembling boots on the ground, both police and military, and preventing as many casualties as he can until the Quinjet arrives. It’s not nearly as many as he’d like.

Finally, finally, the Avengers arrive on the scene, and their tactics and weaponry (plus their Hulk) are good enough to start bringing down alien forces one-by-one, using the intel Tony’s gathered on their weak spots. But the aliens are smart, and they have relatively sophisticated tactics of their own. The battle is slow, grueling, and is largely focused on first disabling their advanced weaponry so that they’re stuck fighting hand-to-hand or with more primitive weapons. More primitive doesn’t mean less deadly, though, as they’re all viscerally reminded a couple of hours into the fighting when there’s a sudden chilling scream over the comms. 

“Avengers, report!” Cap barks, flinging his shield to embed in what looks like a vulnerable spot of the armor of a vaguely rhinoceros-shaped creature. 

“Widow present.”

“Hawkeye still in position.”

“Shit, guys, it looks like the Sergeant just got run through by a spear, but I can’t get to him, this bastard’s still targeting me with his lasers,” Sam interrupts the check-in.

“Sergeant, can you report?” 

“Physical condition sub-optimal. Multiple hostiles engaging. Recommend forfeiting the Asset to avoid compromising current position.”

The voice over the comms is robotic, but in obvious pain, with pauses for grunts that sound like he’s fending enemies off one-handed. Tony’s blood runs cold. 

_ Forfeit, _ his ass.

“I’m going in! Hulk, I need you!”

“Tony, you can’t just…”

“Negative!” Tony doesn’t care that there are still a couple of laser guns active—he dodges their targeting by the skin of his teeth and his own advanced maneuvering technologies, headed straight for where the Sergeant is pinned down. He knows what they’re thinking. No one knows the Asset’s loyalties. He’s injured and might be dangerous. He may or may not be able to distinguish friend from foe.

Yeah, fuck that.

Tony’s moving so fast as he comes in on the place where the Asset’s cornered among piles of rubble that he doesn’t even bother to pull up, just slams the bulk of the suit into one of the more fragile species of creature (based on what they’ve learned so far in this fight) and then wildly aims and blasts one of the rhino-assholes in the face. It doesn’t take him all the way down, but a roaring Hulk does, and now that Tony’s not alone he quickly kneels at the Asset’s side. He’s crouched awkwardly, a spear indeed impaling the muscles between his chest and the metal of his left shoulder, a long bloody knife clenched in his right hand. There are three throwing knives embedded in the eyestalks of a mostly-dead alien a few feet away, and Tony thinks it might be possible that Barnes’ level of survivability for shit situations is even better than his own. 

“You’re safe,” Tony promises, though it seems almost laughable for the situation. It’s something they always say when a new alter emerges, though, a reminder that many of the alters find helpful. This one just stares. 

“Not operational. Not combat-ready.”

“I noticed.” The shoulder is sparking. Whichever alien speared him, their placement was smart. There’s a narrow gap between the armoring of his vest and the metal arm, a strip that’s just fabric for mobility, and the spear has completely disabled the Asset’s best weapon. Tony reaches for a metal plate with a small tool he keeps in the suit for just such an emergency. He doesn’t want to think about what it means that Barnes is so injured the Asset was able to suggest giving up entirely without Yasha coming back to the surface and objecting. “I’m gonna open you up to cut the power, okay?” The Asset just nods, his eyes eerily blank, and Tony does as he said, hoping that it will at least be _ some _ comfort to no longer have the arm electrocuting him from the inside, even if there’s still an inch-and-a-half diameter bloody hole in his body. 

“Sam!” Tony calls for backup. “This fucking spear is still impaling him, between the robo-shoulder and his chest. Do I pull it out or leave it in?” 

“Oh Christ,” Sam mutters over the comms. “Do you have a reliable way to stop the bleeding if you yank it?”

“Uhh…”

“Then leave it there. Try to keep it relatively still if he passes out.”

“Jesus,” Tony mutters, his eyes tracking around what little he can see of the battlefield from here. Hulk’s dispatched of the immediate threats, though, and is protectively standing guard over them, roaring at anything that gets too close. Until this battle is dealt with, it’ll have to do. 

~*~

“Tony,” Yasha whispers, his eyes blinking open and his stare sudden and intense on Tony’s face. Tony’s sitting beside his cot on the Quinjet, still suited in the armor. The only things missing are his faceplate and one gauntlet, which he removed just to hold Barnes’ hand. It’s stupid, maybe. Tony didn’t even know who would wake up beside him. But he’s never, as long as he lives, going to forget how _ wrong _ it felt to pull the spear out, with Cap’s help, to watch the Asset’s body jerk and the blood spurt before Sam could apply pressure and get the wound stitched up as best he could in the field. He will definitely never forget that scream. And he knows what it’s like to wake up, restrained and injured and unsure of where you are. Yasha, at least, seems lucid, if in tremendous pain. 

“Yasha, thank Christ. You’re okay. You’re safe,” Tony murmurs. His hands are trembling, including the one still holding Yasha’s. He leans over the cot and kisses him once on the mouth, then holds a bottle of water with a straw to his lips. “We’re en route to an American hospital.” No other country’s hospitals are safe for the Winter Soldier, goes without saying. It’s not even certain that this one will be, long term, but Yasha needs emergency care and the rest of the Avengers can stand guard until he can be transferred back to New York.

“What happened?” Yasha asks, his voice low, after taking a few healthy gulps. “I remember the hit, and being… scared…” His tone makes it obvious how unusual being scared actually is for him.

“The Asset took over,” Tony explains. “I think maybe… he’s a backup system for you, when things get really bad like that? Anyway, he reported in. We found your position and the Hulk took down the baddies.”

“You weren’t worried?” Yasha’s eyes narrow. “I thought you were still considering him an unknown factor.” 

“You had been _ run through _ by a superpowered alien,” Tony growls. “If you think God and all his angels could’ve stopped me, let alone Captain America…”

Yasha’s lips curl into a smile, and Tony trails off. “I like you like this,” he murmurs, reaching up unsteadily with his good arm and touching his fingertips to the corner of Tony’s mouth. “Vicious.” 

“Yeah, well, you wanna see vicious, try to keep me from saving your life,” Tony grumbles, squeezing Yasha’s hand. “The Asset wanted us to leave you behind. Fuck no.” 

“I’m glad you weren’t hurt,” is all Yasha says to that, and Tony decides he doesn’t necessarily need more. He doesn’t think either Yasha or the Asset are suicidal, as disturbing as the Asset’s unemotional calculation of odds was in the moment. He leans down and rests his head on Yasha’s hip, careful to avoid the injury, and closes his eyes as the roar of the plane engines lulls them both into stillness.

~*~

After surgery, Tony stays by Yasha’s bedside while Steve hovers outside the door, “guarding” but ostensibly also waiting to see if it’s James or Bucky who emerge instead. Tony privately thinks it’s unlikely, with Yasha’s physical body in this condition, but he doesn’t say anything. They’ve all had a scare. Bruce, the Hulk still restless inside his head, is keeping Steve company out there, unable to push off the residual feelings of protectiveness that Hulk was displaying towards both Tony and Barnes.

Sure enough, it’s Yasha who wakes, accepts water, and squeezes Tony’s hand hard with his right. Tony’s starting to slip into the delirium phases of exhaustion, after consulting throughout a long surgery with specialists (including Helen Cho) who had to be flown in to work on Barnes’ unique physiology, replacing some of the metal framework anchoring his shoulder and checking all the wires spliced to his nerves. He’d taken the opportunity to have them use a lighter alloy where possible, hoping that at least _ something _ positive might come out of this shit. Even with the serum, it will take quite a while to heal, and they had to cut much more of him open to repair the damage than was actually punctured. Tony isn’t afraid of gore, but he never wants to see that much of the insides of his lover, ever again. 

“You look half-dead,” Yasha murmurs, direct as always, and Tony just laughs. 

“That oughta be your line,” he jokes, nodding at Yasha’s heavily bandaged left side. Yasha frowns. 

“I failed,” he murmurs. “You shouldn’t have had to save me.”

“Hey, wait, now, what the fuck is this? You didn’t fail at anything. You survived.”

“It’s my job to protect the body. I obviously… didn’t,” Yasha points out, his tone a bit snarky. “I couldn’t even stay in control.”

“Yeah, going up against fucking _ aliens _ from outer _ space _ ! It’s a minor miracle no one actually _ died _ out there, you know, give yourself some credit. You left at least one guy in the dirt even after an injury that could’ve been fatal and an arm that was fucking electrocuting you through your own nervous system, so no, I’m not going to let you be disappointed in yourself, sorry. No dice.”

“The Asset killed that guy,” Yasha points out, but he’s gently amused, Tony’s righteous fury apparently snapping him out of the self-loathing at least for now. 

“Damn right he did. And your standards for yourself are fucking ridiculous. You are _ amazing _ at protecting the system, and I refuse to let you believe otherwise. Yeah, you lost control, because the situation was _ terrifying _ , and you couldn’t afford to be terrified, and you’re damn lucky that there was somebody in your head who could take over in that situation, because most people would be mincemeat, so I refuse to let you beat yourself up over the fact that you let a switch happen in order to _ survive. _ In fact, you did the exact thing you needed to do to keep the body safe. You got that?”

“Yeah,” Yasha smiles. “I got it.” 

“You have no idea how lucky they all have it,” Tony mutters, shaking his head. “Someone like you to look out for them, 24/7? I wish _ I _ had a Yasha,” he blurts out, thinking of all the times he’s done stupid shit and later regretted it. Yasha looks him in the eye, his expression suddenly terribly intense, and Tony blinks.

“You do.” 

~*~

The level of security Yasha gets for a transfer from a hospital in Miami to New York City is probably more than they’d offer the President of the United States. But soon he’s ensconced in a secure medical suite at the Tower, and after a considerable amount of nagging from Bruce and a credible threat involving a knife from Natasha, Tony steps away long enough for a shower. It’s probably reasonable, he realizes, as he literally sways on his feet returning to the suite’s bedroom from the bath, that they dragged him away from Yasha. It is nice to be out of the undersuit smelling of stale sweat and adrenaline. But he’s still relieved when he crawls into the queen-sized bed, dropping his towel on the way, and gets to lie down next to Yasha and listen to the steady beat of his heart. With JARVIS watching over them, he finally drifts off into a deep sleep.

~*~

“I don’t like this,” Yasha declares, after Tony’s slept for what feels like a million years and he’s sitting up in bed next to Yasha, feeling fuzzy, trying to find the best way to cuddle without jarring Yasha’s carefully stabilized left side. 

“Yeah,” Tony gives him a sympathetic grimace. “Medical is the worst.”

“Not that. I don’t like that I can’t take care of you like this.” He frowns, looking very distressed, and Tony cocks his head to the side. 

“And just so we’re on the same page, by take care of me you mean…?”

“Fuck you. Bring you down. Make you mine.”

“Oh,” Tony murmurs, feeling a little shiver down his spine at the list stated so blatantly like that. “Well… not that I don’t like all that, but you know that’s not all you are to me, right? And I… _ am _ yours,” he adds, feeling a little uncomfortable just saying it out loud like that, putting his vulnerability out in full view, but needing to be clear. “Remember?”

“Yes,” Yasha agrees in a low rumble, but something minute softens in his expression that makes Tony thinks the declaration helped. “What… else am I to you?” he asks, though, a moment later.

“You’re… safe,” Tony admits, staring at his lap. A superstitious part of his brain, the part that trusted Stane for all those years, warns him that Yasha’s going to prove him wrong, now that he’s said it, insists that no one is ever really _ safe _ , but he forces it down. “I don’t have to bullshit with you… I mean, I _ can’t _ , really. But it’s good. I never feel like I’m too _ much _ for you. Like it’s okay to want you too much. Because you’re the same way.” 

Yasha reaches up, grips the back of Tony’s neck. “Yes,” he agrees, low and passionate. “I want you to want me,” he says, and Tony just barely manages not to burst out laughing, because it’s inappropriate and Yasha almost certainly wouldn’t get the reference. Instead he ducks his head, meeting Yasha’s eyes and feeling the surety of his grip.

“I do. You know… there are other options. If you want to… feel that I’m yours. If you need a reminder of that. There are other ways to reinforce it besides sex and violence.”

“Show me.” 

“Well… like this,” Tony improvises, pushing the covers back and rearranging himself on top of them so that he’s sitting on his heels facing the headboard. “There are some positions that make me feel more submissive,” he explains, and then bends forward to rest his cheek on the mattress, facing Yasha but closing his eyes, arms coming behind his back to clasp opposite elbows. “I can zone out like this, if I feel safe,” he mumbles, a frank admission that he’s never really made to a partner before, because he never had the opportunity. Certain things have really just been fantasy material, but when Yasha’s hand comes to rest firm on the back of his neck, holding him in place, he realizes how dangerously close to reality they’ve come without even trying. He never went out looking for a dom, exactly, never imagined himself in that kind of a relationship. But with Yasha, it’s less about what he calls it or what the rules are and more about the intensity of their mutual desire, which makes Tony simultaneously feel like he could conquer the world and fear for the drop. 

“I like you like this,” Yasha decides, and his tone is deep and heavy with implication. Tony exhales slowly, feels the proprietary hand holding him steady, and lets himself float for a while.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The system works on rebalancing time at the front as roles evolve, James and Bruce are still schmoopy, and the Avengers discover reality TV. Oh, and it turns out not _everyone_ on the team wants to date an alter. Who knew?

“I can’t decide,” James groans as he lowers himself to one of the wooden benches in the dry sauna that adjoins the gym complex, “whether you’re the bigger bastard, or the actual therapist.”

“Me,” Sam laughs. “Always me. PT always sucks, though, dude, you’re gonna feel fine in about five minutes with your body so don’t even complain. Last time I got injured in combat PT took six months, and for the first few I was done for the  _ day _ after a session.”

“So you’ve told me, nine thousand times,” James teases. “Still hate it.”

“Yeah, yeah. Well suck it up, no more for today.” Sam lays his towel out on a bench, stretching out on his back in his underwear. 

“Thank God. You know, you’d think Yasha would switch out for this shit, right? Physical protection and all that, would it kill him to protect me from aches and pains?” James smirks. “Seems kind of selective.”

“If he did, you’d probably bitch about not having enough time,” Sam points out. “Gotta compromise, man.”

“Yeah… you know, I think he  _ does _ want more time,” James says, his tone going a bit more serious. Sam turns his head to the side to give him his attention, even if it’s too dark for Sam to really see him without super vision. 

“Yeah?”

“He’s… been asking to front more, even when there’s no danger or anything. Feels like I just got to where he was feeling safe in the Tower for a little while, and now he’s back to wanting more time. I guess… now that he’s got Tony, he’s got more reason.”

“Ah. That’s tough, man.”

James shrugs. “I mean, I get it. More than I used to. He’s just as much a person as I am, but…”

“Still hard to trade time when you don’t have as much as most people.”

“Right. When I learned about all this for the first time, at least I knew that I was the host, and that meant more time in the body. That was something I could rely on, I thought.” James frowns. “And listen, I’m a romantic. The more generous side of me wants him to get his time with Tony, to be happy with him, but… it’s scary to concede time to him, too. I don’t like the idea that I’m less valuable just because I’m not in a monogamous relationship, or because I don’t do sex or whatever. I don’t want to have to give up my role as the host because I’m not like other people that way.” 

“And that wouldn’t be fair,” Sam agrees. “Have you talked to Dr. Adeyemi about it?”

“Yeah. She told me that protectors often don’t emotionally attach as much as other roles… like, they’re too wary, or they’re only focused on threats. So they don’t necessarily have deep relationships with other people. And I think Yasha was like that, I mean he was really caught off guard when Tony confessed his feelings. But now she thinks that his relationship with Tony might be evolving Yasha into, like, a co-host with me. More equally shared time, for one, and also his role is broader than it used to be.”

“Shit. That’s a lot.”

“Tell me about it.” James sighs deeply. “I feel for him, though. I mean, I know I don’t always agree with what he does, but Yasha’s not so bad. I just, I always thought of him as having this specific role in our system, and maybe it was nice to know that someone else could deal with certain shit for me sometimes, as long as I got most of the time to be out front. But now I have to think of him differently. That he’s this guy who’s just as fully formed as I am, or might get to be that way, and I don’t have any more right to the outside world than he does. Maybe I’ll even get less, eventually.”

“Well, nobody’s actually suggesting that,” Sam points out. “And if  _ he _ does, then tell him to talk to me,” he adds in a mildly threatening tone, pushing himself to sit up. James laughs, cocking his head to the side.

“What’re you gonna do, beat him up?”

“Oh come on, don’t look at me like I’m scrawny or something. I’ve got tricks up my sleeve,” Sam complains. 

“Oh yeah?” James grins, eyes him up and down. “Definitely didn’t say you were scrawny,” he teases, and then spontaneously leans across the narrow space, kissing Sam briefly on the mouth. Sam’s surprised enough that he doesn’t respond immediately, but then James is leaning back in again, pushing their mouths together more firmly, and Sam raises a hand to push gently at his chest.

“Wait, hold up…”

“Oh. Sorry, I didn’t…” James face falls, and Sam’s hand quickly slides up to his shoulder, squeezing there. 

“It’s okay. Don’t feel bad about it, man.”

“You don’t like guys?” James asks, leaning back, and Sam lets his hand drop.

“Oh, cause you’re such hot shit there’s no way I could like guys and not be specifically interested in you?” Sam jokes, grinning broadly. 

James smirks, and any tension in the room dissipates. “Yeah, pretty much.”

“You are an irredeemable asshole.”

“No, no, I’m the likable one.”

“You assume there has to be a likable one,” Sam snorts. “I don’t think it works that way.”

“I have it on good authority that I am both charming and pleasant,” James says with a slightly snooty tone. 

“From who, Steve? Steve doesn’t count.”

“That’s arbitrary.”

“No, that’s because Steve says nice things about everybody. Also when you’re dating someone their opinion never counts. It’s the rules.”

“Your rules are weird.”

“Hey, I didn’t make them.”

“Whatever.” James pushes to his feet and reaches out to give Sam a hand. “C’mon, I’m back to normal now.”

“...irredeemable asshole.”

~*~

“You kissed Sam?”

“Don’t laugh.”

“I’m not,” Bruce smiles, gently reaching out to grasp James’ waist with both hands and pulling him in for a slow, soft kiss of his own. James’ lips are warm and a little dry, and his body is solid under Bruce’s hands. “Just surprised.”

“I thought he might be into it.” James shrugs. “You were. Steve is.” 

“Well, statistically, you were bound to meet a heterosexual in this building eventually.”

“ _ Doubtful _ .”

Bruce laughs, kisses him again. “I was just getting ready to put a curry together. I’d love it if you’d join me.” 

“Mm, yes,” James agrees, sneaking one more kiss before following Bruce into his kitchen, where an array of vegetables are laid out on the counter, some already chopped and neatly arranged in little bowls. It’s become a common shared activity of theirs, as James loves trying new recipes and Bruce is always happy to have both help and company in the kitchen. “Winter would love this,” James observes with a fond smile, rinsing a handful of okra and starting to slice.

“What, the mise en place or the vegetables?”

“The mise. He likes dividing things into categories. It’s a whole thing.”

“Ah. It is rather soothing, I’d agree.” Bruce sets a pan on the stove, turns the heat on, and then pulls out another cutting board to chop up some chilis. “When I was alone as a kid, I used to watch Julia Child on PBS. I loved the cooking but she was always kind of a mess.”

“Yeah?” James smiles. “I’ve seen some cooking shows, but I don’t think I know her.”

“Oh, we have to find some reruns of the French Chef, then. It’s iconic. There’s an episode with a turkey that I have to find for you...”

“If you’ll watch the Great British Bake Off with me, then you’re on.”

“Of course you watch Bake Off. I should’ve guessed.” Bruce grins. “I’ve only seen a few episodes, but I like it so far.” 

“It’s so good! And you can get the recipes online…” James looks almost childlike when he’s excited, and Bruce can’t help but step into his space, kiss the back of his neck.

“Maybe we can watch an episode and then try one of the recipes, then.”

“I would love that,” James beams. “You want all this sliced?”

“Yep,” Bruce agrees, slicing an onion last to minimize the tears and then going to check the temperature of the oil. Spices, garlic, and ginger go into the pan, followed by the onion and chilis, and then the okra. James hums as he slices tomatoes, something Bruce doesn’t recognize, and it’s all terribly domestic for a while. It makes Bruce think of how he assumed, for a long time after the other guy joined the scene, that he’d never have a relationship again without the sexual component, and he’s almost ashamed. Sex in his life would be nice, sure, but at the same time, there’s so much he doesn’t miss.

Once the curry’s done, there’s naan that James slathers liberally in butter, and they sit down at the table where James immediately hooks one of his ankles around Bruce’s foot, maintaining contact. “Too spicy?” he asks after James has taken the first bite.

“No, perfect.” James smiles, then closes his eyes for a moment. “You’re perfect. And I’m dissociating a little. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. Need anything to ground?” Bruce has taught him some of his own techniques, actual meditation as well as simpler tricks like holding a heavy stone or slowly drinking tea, but James shakes his head.

“No, this is good.” James clasps both hands around his warm bowl and is silent for a minute, eyes still closed.

“It’s okay if you need to switch,” Bruce affirms quietly, but James shakes his head again. Since there’s not much else he can do, Bruce keeps eating, maintaining the silence, and James eventually returns to his food as well, though he stays quiet. 

“Is this okay?” James asks, halfway through the meal, and Bruce nods.

“Absolutely. Let me know if you need anything.”

James doesn’t ask, but after a few minutes, he does lay his right arm down on the table, palm side up, and Bruce takes his hand in a firm grip. They finish the rest of the meal one-handed, and when they’re done, retire by mutual silent agreement to the sofa. James arranges himself first, and then hugs Bruce back against his chest, twining their legs together. It feels somewhat strange, for a moment, to be the little spoon, but also kind of nice. Bruce doesn’t get so many opportunities to feel small, in a positive way. Hulk doesn’t even complain, in his head, and he’ll count that for a win.

~*~

Bake Off becomes a whole thing. 

Natasha watches it too, it turns out, and when they have a marathon going in the common living area, other Avengers gradually trickle in until the whole team is sprawled on chairs and couches, picking their favorites for a possible season champion. All except for Tony, that is, whose pick is Paul Hollywood’s forearms. Since the TV is actually a projector screen, easily visible from the kitchen area and audible with the surround sound, a few episodes in James ends up kneading bread dough while he watches, and Bruce (knowing the team’s patience, or lack thereof) decides to start on a batch of cookies so there will be something to eat well before the bread is ready. The kitchen is well stocked, and he finds dark chocolate chunks and peanut butter to flavor them with.

“Dude, that is unfair,” Tony mutters, leaning over the back of a sofa and staring as James kneads his dough rather vigorously, at speed. 

“Stop ogling my arms, Stark, it’s impolite,” James tosses back, but he’s grinning as he says it. 

“My boyfriend has the same arms. Don’t I get a pass or something?”

“No,” James snickers. “Paul Hollywood probably has better technique, anyway.”

“Paul Hollywood doesn’t have a piece of cybernetic beauty fused to his skeleton, sorry, no contest.”

“Ha! I knew you were only in it for the tech.” James points a floury metal finger at him. “I’m telling Yasha.”

“Yasha knows  _ exactly _ what I’m in it for,” Tony counters, leering, and Bruce chucks a rubber spoon at him. He catches it in mid-air, but it’s the thought that counts. 

“Are you using an actual Bake Off recipe?” Clint asks, having wandered into the kitchen with his usual restlessness. 

“Yeah, it’s on the laptop there if you want to look,” James nods at it, and Clint’s on his computer for fifteen seconds before he crows in delight. 

“Oh my God, this is better than porn. You guys, he has  _ men’s fashion blogs _ open on here!”

“So?” James rolls his eyes, giving the bread a few more strokes and then transferring it to a glass bowl and covering it with a cloth. They don’t have a proving drawer, but the oven on its lowest setting makes a decent approximation, and he transfers it with ease. “You know, Clint, men’s style isn’t an invalid interest just because you  _ personally _ don’t have any.”

“Zing!” Tony shouts gleefully, and actually vacates his couch just so that he can give James a high five. “Guess who gets to be my date to all the men’s collection shows at Fashion Week this year?”

“Well I can’t exactly go to Fashion Week in a mask,” James points out with a fond little smile for Tony. “But I do appreciate the offer.”

“Sure you can! It’s a fashion show, it won’t even be the weirdest accessory there.”

“Huh. Really?” James looks hopeful, and Tony grins at him. 

“Absolutely. We’ll get you something all elegant and masquerade-y. Pepper gets bored at the men’s shows, once she gets over the hot models. I mean, I get bored too, but I get bored at everything.”

James laughs. “Well, you look amazing when you go out, but I honestly wasn’t sure whether that was you or some stylist.”

“A little of column A, a little of column B. I’m not a fashion geek or anything, but I can appreciate a sexy look. ...oh hey! Wait, forget Bake-Off, you know what we need to watch?” 

“Project Runway?” Natasha guesses.

“Project Runway! C’mere, James, I promise you’re gonna love this…”

~*~

“Are my clothes really that bad?” Steve frowns, watching James pull various articles of clothing out of a giant box and lay them out on his bed as Natasha stands to one side, supervising. It’s been a week and a half since they all started Project Runway, and Steve’s never even  _ heard _ of a “subscription box,” but James had gleefully quizzed him on various aspects of his style preferences, whatever those are, and here it is.

“They’re not  _ bad _ , they’re just not  _ styled _ . Half of fashion is knowing what pieces to put together.”

“Know when you’re beat, Rogers,” Natasha grins, patting him on the back when she sees his bafflement. He gives her a dubious look, pretty sure she’s only here to delight in his discomfort. 

“This is supposed to be fun,” James chides, holding an olive-colored shirt up to his chest. “Here, this first.” 

“What, right here?”

Natasha snorts and starts holding accessories up to fabrics. “Like I’ve never seen you naked, Rogers. Strip.”

“You are terrifying,” Steve replies blandly, and resigns himself to tugging his t-shirt over his head, slipping into the dress shirt and buttoning it up most of the way. 

“Yeah, it’s on my business card.” Natasha smiles, and James hands him a pair of pants in a beige-ish shade. 

“Shirt tucked in,” he instructs, and Steve rolls his eyes a bit.

“I do know how to wear a dress shirt.”

“Mm-hmm. Do you know what a French tuck is?”

Steve searches his brain, comes up empty, and James just grins at him as he zips up the fly and runs his hand over the surprisingly soft fabric of the pants. 

“Queer Eye next, then,” James declares, and hands Steve a copper vest shot through with gold.

“Really?” he holds the vest up, eyeing the metallic fabric dubiously. 

“ _ Try _ it, darling, it’s not a death sentence.” And James proceeds to tug it up Steve’s arms himself, buttoning the thing and then standing back, cocking his head to the side and eyeing the ensemble critically. “Okay, it looks good on you, but I’ll concede it’s a lot. You like the rest, though?” 

“The pants are nice,” Steve concedes, slipping out of the vest. “I could wear them with brown shoes.” 

“Correct. See, you’re not so bad,” James grins and grabs a more casual shirt, charcoal grey with long sleeves and impossibly soft. “Maybe we can get you some suede Chelsea boots,” he ponders as Steve switches them out and tucks the new shirt in. James manhandles him into a belt, then stands back and looks him up and down with a grin. 

“I’d tap that,” Natasha helpfully volunteers. 

“Oh stop,” James laughs, and Steve doesn’t technically know what “tap” means in this context, but he has an idea. “Comfortable?”

“Yeah, it’s good.” 

“And see…” James crowds in close and slides his hands up Steve’s chest, fingers fanning out to cover more area. “Makes people want to touch you. So that’s a bonus.” Steve can feel the blood surge up to his face, especially when James leans in and kisses him just briefly on the lips. 

“All right, now denim…”

~*~

After Natasha leaves, offering to take the half-full box of clothes to return down to the mail drop, James and Steve end up side-by-side on Steve’s bed, propped up against the headboard with their long legs stretched out in front of them. Steve twines his fingers with James’, and feels a little like a teenager on a date (as if he’d ever actually gone on a date as a teenager). 

“Can I ask you something?” Steve asks, feeling a little bold.

“Of course. What’s up?”

“I was just wondering… it’s something Bucky said.”

“What, about me?”

“Yeah. Is that weird?”

“Well… we just don’t communicate much, is all. I’m surprised.”

“I don’t know if it’s something you actually told him,” Steve explains, rubbing the skin of James’ hand with his thumb. “Maybe just an observation.”

“Okay. Lay it on me.”

“He said you… don’t go past second base. I was wondering…”

“Ah,” James smiles. “I figured we were going to get to that, eventually. Does it bother you?”

“No!” Steve insists quickly. “It’s not that, I mean, I guess I’d like… well… it doesn’t matter, really,” he stutters, wishing his cheeks would cool. “If it’s not something you want. I was just curious. If it’s true, and what it means.”

“Means pretty much what you said,” James shrugs. “I don’t want sex. I just don’t think about it much. I don’t look at someone and think ‘whoo boy, I want to get his pants off.’ I like kissing, but… that’s pretty much it.”

“Okay.” Steve squeezes his hand. “It’s really not… a problem. I like going on dates with you. I’d… like to kiss you more. But I don’t want to do anything that steps over your boundaries. I guess it’s just surprising to me, since Bucky’s… uh… really  _ not _ like that? I know you’re different, but same body, I just…”

James grins and spares Steve from his fumbling. “I know. It’s not that my body never reacts to anything, but mentally, I think it’s just compartmentalized. You probably don’t want to know about Yasha’s sex life, but he definitely  _ has _ one. He, uh, works out most of the energy.” 

Steve makes a face. “Yeah, I kind of figured.” 

James laughs. “I hope Bucky will front, when you need that. When he can.”

“It’s not that I  _ need _ it,” Steve counters. “I mean… I like it, with him, obviously. But I’ve been alone that way for a while. I don’t want you to think I think less of you, or… anything like that. Or that I think it’s your job or something.”

“That’s not what I thought.”

“Good. I am curious, though… if you don’t like sex, then what makes a relationship romantic? I mean… we’ve barely kissed, but… it  _ feels _ romantic, with you,” Steve admits. “I thought we’d get there, but even if we’re not gonna, it still feels that way.”

“Yeah?” James smiles and ducks his head, nudges Steve’s shoulder. “I’m glad. It feels that way to me, too. And I think maybe you just answered your own question.”

“Fair enough. Could I kiss you?” Steve asks, and James lifts his head, his smile a little sly. He nods and Steve releases his hand, threads his fingers through James’ hair on one side of his head. He presses the other lightly to James’ jaw and leans in, fitting their lips together. He doesn’t push, just slow, closed-mouth kisses, but as they warm up James scoots closer, half in his lap, and twines his arms around Steve’s waist. It’s completely different from kissing Bucky, but no less appealing, Steve realizes. A part of him feels like he’s cheating, but he shuts it up and lets himself slowly relax, enjoying the comfort and closeness to another body. 

~*~

Though Yasha’s not yet cleared for combat, that certainly doesn’t mean he abstains from sex with Tony. As soon as he’s able, in fact, they’re back to the rough fucking, and when Tony questions him about it the first time he initiates, Yasha fucks him up against a wall, held up with the non-metal arm, just to prove a point. Still, though, the little rituals they’d developed as he was healing take hold, and it’s not unusual for the two of them to share a quieter moment together. That means that Yasha’s out more, and Tony can’t complain, though a part of him doesn’t want to get used to it, doesn’t want to assume it’s permanent. 

So even though there’s work to be done before Pepper murders him, Tony’s curled up on a floor cushion between Yasha’s spread legs, reviewing documents on his tablet as Yasha pets his hair. At random intervals, a piece of chocolate presses against his lips, and he eats it absently without losing his place, licking at Yasha’s fingers. When the documents are done, he puts the tablet to sleep and sets it aside, signaling to Yasha that work time’s over. Sure enough, the flesh hand fists in his hair, tugging back so that he’s looking upside down at his lover. 

“Hello, beautiful boy,” Yasha murmurs, gruff and pleased. His expression is blank, but Tony’s learning to read the nuances. 

“Hey handsome,” Tony grins. “Can I do something for you?” 

Yasha doesn’t answer right away, just holding him there, but after a minute he lets go of Tony’s hair, nudging at Tony’s shoulder to get him to turn around. Tony leans in, going for Yasha’s crotch, but Yasha pushes him down instead, head all the way to the edge of the cushion. His metal hand is a firm weight on the back of Tony’s neck and he gasps at first, then lets his breathing even out, slow down. Yasha lets go and the heel of one boot comes to rest on his ass, Yasha’s calf pressing against his back. Slowly, everything else but that weight begins to fade, and Tony lets his mind go quiet. 


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony is clumsy, Yasha is possessive, Natasha is a good bro, and James is a gentleman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've added the tag "Someone Get That Boy a Therapist" because I realized I honestly need it for multiple stories involving Steve Rogers. Ahem.

As informal as the Avengers would probably seem to anyone observing them in their natural habitat of the Tower’s common area, it’s impossible to fight as seamlessly as they do without regular practice. Steve schedules their training exercises, and they all have their own workouts as well. One of Tony’s requirements, much as he sometimes wishes he could opt out, is regular sparring with one of the unenhanced members of the team. Despite all the MMA and discipline-specific training he’s done since he first decided to be a superhero, workouts with Natasha and Clint seem custom engineered to kick his ass. Today it’s Nat’s turn, definitely the greater of two evils, and she’s in top shape, laying him out regularly and then gleefully listing off all of the flaws in his form, as if the actual act of beating him down requires no brain power in and of itself.

Adding insult to injury, there’s an audience, though technically no one’s paying direct attention to him. Clint’s making his way around the complex aerial gym that spans the entire area of the space far above their heads, and Sam’s putting in time on a treadmill while James and Steve work their way up the climbing wall. After chugging down half a bottle of water, Tony comes at Natasha again, varying his combinations so that he stays on his feet for a good thirty seconds, maybe more. 

Unfortunately, when he  _ does _ go down, it’s more dramatically than he’d like, with a pained shout as his foot goes one way and the rest of his leg twists the other. It’s a little humiliating, but before he can even focus on assessing the damage, his eye is caught by the figure  _ flying  _ off the climbing wall from three-quarters of the way up, an impressive leap that ends in a roll and then a dead run. Oh, shit.

“Hey, I’m okay!” Tony calls out, though it’s a little weak, still gasping through the pain. Yasha doesn’t seem to pay him much mind at all, vaulting into the ring and then putting his body between Tony and Natasha,  _ growling  _ at her. Fortunately, Nat’s smart, and keeps her hands up as she backs slowly to the other edge of the ring. “Hey,” Tony demands. “Hey, look at me. I’m all right. She didn’t mean to. Just a sprained ankle at the worst.” 

Fortunately, Tony’s voice does in fact draw Yasha’s attention, and while he still looks a little feral, his pupils dilated and his gaze intense, he redirects his focus to Tony, gently pressing both hands to the sides of Tony’s foot even as he kind of looms over him in a broad crouch with his back to Natasha. He applies a very gradual pressure, and Tony hisses, nodding vigorously. 

“Yep, yep, that’s the one, no need to do any more of that…”

Yasha lets off, but then proceeds to pat down pretty much every  _ other  _ part of Tony’s body, and he allows it, figuring anything that will ratchet down the other man’s adrenaline can’t hurt. “Okay, yep, sore there, but nothing broken,” he offers when Yasha squeezes his thighs, then palpates his abdomen. “I did sign up for this, you know,” he teases, but Yasha doesn’t bother to reply, continuing his investigation. When nothing else causes Tony to react in major pain, he nods decisively and then slides his arm under Tony’s knees, the other at his back, and lifts. 

“Wow, all right, that’s one way to do it,” Tony mutters, wrapping his arms around Yasha’s neck. “Gonna let me shower and get some water, big boy?”

“Penthouse,” Yasha counters, somehow managing to get the two of them over the ropes and down onto the gym floor without much effort at all. “Ice. Bandages. Water. Shower.” 

“Okay, reasonable point. I feel gross, though, so maybe shower first?”

“You’re hurt,” Yasha says, in a tone that does not brook argument, and Tony allows it with a fond little grumble, resting his head on Yasha’s shoulder. 

“Yeah, okay. But at least put a towel on the sofa first before you ice me, yeah?”

“Acceptable,” Yasha agrees, stepping into the escalator, and JARVIS directs the car without comment.

~*~

After the rather abrupt loss of his climbing partner to Tony’s injury, Steve finishes his workout and decides to go for a cup of coffee once he’s showered. Of course, the Tower has all the actual coffee he could need, and he’s not a snob about its quality like Tony (having fresh coffee available on demand is still a luxury, and would be even if it tasted terrible). But he still likes to use a coffee run as an excuse to leave the building from time to time, and his preferred shop is cozy, not fancy or overrun by what Clint calls “the hipster mafia.” It’s a good place to take a break.

This morning’s barista is kind when he describes what he wants in plain language, rather than fancy terminology—large coffee, a little bit of cream, a lot of chocolate flavor—and it’s quickly ready for him. He rounds the corner to his favorite little nook of seating, out of view of the entrance, and is surprised to find Natasha sitting across from his favorite chair. She doesn’t have a beverage in front of her, and Steve raises his eyebrows, pausing before he sits and pointing with his thumb back at the counter. “Did you want anything?”

“Just to talk,” she replies, gesturing to the armchair. He nods and sinks into it, putting his big travel cup on the low table between them and removing the lid so it can cool off a bit. 

“Is there a problem?” He leans forward a bit, keeping his voice low. There’s some distance between pairs of chairs, but he never assumes someone can’t overhear a conversation. He thinks of how they first found out about HYDRA infiltrating SHIELD, of running with her. Natasha asking for a private conversation outside of the Tower is probably always going to ring alarm bells. But...

“No problem,” Natasha says easily, tucking her legs up in the chair so she’s sitting at an angle. 

“Then, uh… why did you follow me out of the Tower? You know you can always talk to me at home.”

“I’m a Russian spy, Rogers. I believe the line is that it’s not paranoia if they’re actually trying to kill you.”

“I’ve heard the same line from Tony,” Steve admits, then frowns. “ _ Is  _ someone trying to kill you?”

“No more than usual,” she grins. “I just didn’t want JARVIS listening in on this conversation.”

“So… it’s about Tony?”

“No. But Tony’s nosy.” Steve can’t really deny that, even though he does trust JARVIS. He lifts his cup, blowing gently over the rim, and waits for her to elaborate. “I want to talk about Barnes.”

Steve’s body tenses a bit. He can’t really help it, and of course she notices, but doesn’t react. “...Okay. Do you think we made the wrong call, letting him join?”

Natasha smiles and her tone is gentle. “No, Steve. This isn’t about the Avengers. He’s been everything we could’ve asked for in the field.”

“Then… sorry, why are we here?”

Natasha rolls her eyes. “Look, I’m trying to be your friend, okay? I never said I was any good at it.” He’s not really sure what to say to that, so he takes a sip from his still slightly-too-hot coffee instead. “You just look a little lost these days. I mean, more so than usual.”

“Gee, thanks,” he quips.

“Hey, if I’d known, I wouldn’t have kept trying to set you up with women,” she returns, raising an eyebrow. He can’t help but blush at that. 

“It wouldn’t have worked better if you tried to set me up with men,” Steve mumbles. 

“I didn’t say that.” She always looks at him like she can see directly under his skin, which is unnerving, but her eyes are kind. “I think maybe we’ve been unfair to you. This whole thing was weird to everybody, but at least most of us grew up used to shrinks and mental health diagnoses. And none of the rest of us have had a best friend come back from the dead.”

“It’s… fine,” Steve says a little flatly, sipping at his coffee. “I’m figuring it out.”

“Yeah, you are. But I’m trying to say, it’s okay if it’s hard. It’s okay if you wish you just had Bucky back.” Steve inhales sharply, hard pressed to fully deny it.

“I… don’t really want that to happen.”

“But sometimes you kind of wish it had?”

Steve shrugs, hunching in on himself a bit. “That’s not fair to James. Or Yasha. Or anyone else, other than Bucky.”

“Sure. But I’m not talking to them, I’m talking to you.”

“I care about James,” Steve admits quietly. “He’s… a good thing to come out of this. And he’s  _ not _ Bucky. Don’t ask me if I wish he never existed in the first place. That’s not a fair question.”

“Okay,” Natasha agrees. 

“Of course it was a shock. But everything that’s happened to me in this century has been a shock. It’s the new normal. And it’s strange, but… it’s still a million times better than it was, thinking he was dead.” Steve frowns a bit, thinking of Natasha’s experience, of the Red Room. “Is that cruel of me to say? Knowing what he went through to make it back to me?”

“I think it’s honest. I’m sure there were times when he wished he were dead,” she says with absolute certainty in her tone. “But he’s free of them now. All of him.” 

Steve nods, and takes another sip of his coffee. He doesn’t ask, whether all this has been worth it, for her, ultimately. He doesn’t ask whether she wishes she had died early on in her Red Room training, like some of the other girls she’s only mentioned in very vague generalities. He’s pretty sure he’s not ready to hear the answer.

~*~

Yasha thrusts the carton of mint chocolate chip forward with both hands, and Tony cocks his head to the side, putting his tablet down on the end table next to the sofa he’s sitting on in the penthouse. His ankle is still wrapped, but mostly healed since the sparring incident, and Yasha’s stopped hovering 24/7 though he still shows up quite a bit.

“Uh...hi?” Tony takes the ice cream, along with a proffered spoon, and waits for an explanation.

“Your weakness,” Yasha says matter-of-factly. “Mint chocolate chip.” Tony blinks, not actually sure where Yasha got that from, but it is in fact his favorite flavor, so he offers a smile and opens the carton, patting the cushion next to him. 

“Thanks. Share with me?”

Yasha nods and sits, one arm across the back of the sofa behind Tony. He doesn’t object when Tony feeds him a spoonful, rather than actually handing over the spoon, and they enjoy the ice cream like that in silence for a bit before Yasha speaks up again.

“Dr. Adeyemi says I should work on my possessive feelings towards you.” His voice is low, a bit gruff, and Tony gives him a sidelong look. 

“...okay. You told her we’re monogamous now?”

“Yes.”

“But she thinks you’re too possessive?”

“It’s hard for me. Knowing that I’m not always around. I trust you, but…” Yasha frowns.

“Well… it is a unique situation,” Tony reasons, putting the ice cream carton on the floor with the spoon inside so that he can twist to face Yasha, both his hands on the other man. “Jealousy’s not really rational.”

“I know you wouldn’t be with someone else when I’m not here,” Yasha explains, speaking slowly and deliberately, though his eyes are on his lap rather than meeting Tony’s. “But I’m  _ not _ always here. She reminded me that I can’t always control how often I’m here. And I have these… feelings.”

“What kinds of feelings?” Tony asks, taking Yasha’s right hand in his own and squeezing. “Can you describe them?”

“I don’t want anyone else to see how you look when you’re… the way you are sometimes,” Yasha explains, obviously struggling for the words. “I want that to be for me. But that’s not fair, because you can’t have the same thing. Steve gets to see James, and Bucky, in intimate moments. You can’t ask them to save that for you.”

“Well, yeah, but that’s not…  _ you _ . You don’t look the same, even. It’s like… triplets. They have the same face but they’re obviously not the same person. Seriously, I’m not bothered by that,” Tony promises, stroking the side of his face. “I know I get to see you in ways no one else can. I can always tell when it’s you out, can’t I?”

“That’s true,” Yasha admits, glancing up and meeting Tony’s eyes, his expression softening a bit. 

“Maybe… would it help you if I had a more tangible reminder? That I’m yours?” Tony suggests, an idea forming. Yasha’s eyes flash with heat, and that’s answer enough.

“Yes. How?”

“Well… sometimes people, in certain relationship styles that are kind of like what we are to each other but more formal, will wear something to symbolize that relationship. Like a piece of jewelry, or… most recognizable, a collar. Something metal or leather around your neck, that means you belong to someone.” Tony’s voice is softer than usual, and he kind of can’t believe he’s offering this, except that he  _ is _ , and something in him thrills at the idea. “Not everyone would understand it, but a lot of people would. I couldn’t have it out in public, because people who have that kind of relationship are still pretty stigmatized, and it would become a whole  _ thing  _ with the press wanting to get into my personal business, but under a shirt collar… even if no one sees it, it’s something I could feel. Just an idea you might want to consider, for when you’re not around.” 

Yasha’s eye contact is intense enough that when Tony’s done speaking, he tries to drop his head, but Yasha’s hand is quickly on his jaw, forcing his head up. Fortunately, though, he doesn’t try to talk more, but pushes his mouth against Tony’s instead, crowding him against the armrest. Tony groans and opens to the kiss, gasping when Yasha shifts and suddenly yanks him bodily down into a more comfortable position, on his back and between Yasha’s legs. As he stretches out, Yasha pushes two metal fingers into his mouth, and his eyes flutter shut as he sucks. 

“My beautiful boy,” Yasha whispers, and Tony flushes all over with the praise. He should be way too old to be anyone’s “boy,” except logic leaves the building when Yasha’s taking care of him like this. He lifts his hips to help when Yasha reaches back to get him out of his pants one-handed, and pouts a little when the fingers slip out of his mouth. 

“Patience,” Yasha chides, and Tony grins up at him.

“Darling, have you met me?”

Yasha doesn’t actually say anything to that, just gets him out of the rest of his clothes and flips him on his belly. “Relax. I’m going to finger you open,” he declares, the baritone of his voice sending shivers down Tony’s spine. There’s lube in the drawer of the end table, and Yasha spreads a liberal amount around Tony’s hole, stroking gently with his fingers. Tony groans and lets his leg drop down off the edge of the sofa to give Yasha more room. He’s straddling Tony’s other thigh, his fingers patiently brushing over the furled muscle with the lightest of touches. 

“Please,” Tony begs.

“No. I want it slow,” Yasha counters, and Tony just groans again, pressing his face against a decorative pillow. Yasha keeps it gentle, circling his hole, applying pressure with his fingertips and then backing off again. When he finally pushes a finger inside, Tony’s muttering “please” over and over in little gasps that he can’t quite control.

“That’s it,” Yasha praises, unusually talkative. “I like the way your asshole flutters and gets softer for me, Tony. It’s my favorite thing. It makes my cock hard to feel how I coax you open.” He pets down Tony’s spine with the metal fingers, and Tony is pretty much gone. His head rolls to one side as Yasha presses slowly against his prostate, a deeper and deeper pressure, and he spots the mint-green ice cream melting in the carton out of the corner of his eye. A hysterical little giggle turns into a groan as Yasha slides another finger in, and his eyes flutter closed.

~*~

The nice thing about New York is how blasé most New Yorkers are, even in the presence of superheroes, even when one has to walk around in pretty much full face coverings all the time. It’s almost always the tourists who stop Steve for an autograph, and half the time he’s not recognized out of uniform when he’s on his own. With James, it’s a little different, but people seem more hesitant to approach them as a pair, and Steve can’t say he minds. He’s pleasantly surprised when James takes his hand as they walk through Central Park, without even a discussion about PDA, and he remembers that James never actually experienced a time where men holding hands on the street was tantamount to a crime. There’s something refreshing about that, as precious as Steve holds his time with Bucky.

It’s early enough in the morning that dogs are allowed off leash in the park, and they end up in a field throwing sticks to the world’s most eager golden retriever, whose dog mom seems perfectly happy to take a break on a bench with her latte. James turns into a total sap with the dog, crouching down and giving him enthusiastic scritches along his neck whenever he needs a break. Eventually, the woman takes her pet away, though, and they end up detouring to a coffee shop. 

“Put that away,” James insists, nudging at Steve’s arm when he tries to pull out his wallet. “It’s a date, isn’t it?”

“Well… yeah,” Steve agrees, smiling bemusedly at him. 

“Let me be a gentleman, then.” Steve can’t actually see the smile behind James’ bandana, but he can hear it.

“What does that make me?” Steve smirks, but he orders his coffee and lets James pay for it just the same. They take their coffees back into the park and find a bench alongside the jogging path, where they sit thigh-to-thigh. 

“I wonder if Tony would let me get a dog,” James muses, folding the bottom of his bandana up to sip at his black coffee. Steve laughs and shakes his head.

“Maybe. I’d be more worried about Yasha.”

James shrugs. “He’s not a puppy-killer, Rogers, I think it would be fine.”

“I wasn’t suggesting  _ that _ !” Steve sputters. “Just, he might forget to feed him when you’re not out.”

“I can leave Post-Its. That’s what we usually do.” 

“Okay, that’s fair, actually.” The Barnes apartment is always dotted with the brightly colored squares of paper, one alter letting the others know about logistical details. “Still might want to ask the other alters before you do it.”

“I’ll put something in our journal,” James agrees, dropping one hand to Steve’s thigh and rubbing gently through his jeans. “I think a dog would be good for Winter.”

“What, like a therapy dog?” Steve’s heard about those through Sam, whose clients occasionally had one. He thinks he’d personally much rather have a dog than a shrink, so it seems reasonable. 

James nods. “He just… has a lot to deal with. All the memories. He can’t really get away from them. I feel bad for him. It’s weird to know that shit happened to me that’s so bad I literally can’t remember it, you know? I can’t even think about it too much or I’ll start dissociating.”

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, gently cupping his hand over James’. “He has Tony for company when he needs it, though?”

“Yeah. And he has coping skills, that’s what Dr. Adeyemi would call it.”

“Still,” Steve grins. “I think a dog sounds like a better friend than a coping skill.” 

James laughs, loud and bright, and snuggles into Steve’s side. “Obviously, Rogers. You’re the brains of this operation.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Therapist: “Maybe we should work on your overly possessive feelings towards Tony.”  
Tony: *suggests BDSM collar*
> 
> Also: In case you’re wondering about the mint chocolate chip reference, Yasha has pretty much perfect recall for anything Tony-related, and when they first met Tony jokingly said something about mint chocolate chip being his weakness mid-Tony-ramble.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Healing isn't linear, and it's not always obvious how to help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a general warning that this is a tough chapter. I will try to offer virtual hugs in the comments for those who need them! But more cuteness is coming, I promise you. We're also coming up on the end game (is that phrase even allowed anymore?) as I'm writing the last chapter and an epilogue currently. Omg there is so much in that last chapter though. So you'll definitely have 13 next weekend and if 14 takes me an extra week, please know it's coming. Much love as always for all your feedback and kudos!
> 
> CW: self-harm, character not understanding suicidality vs. self-harm and reacting badly, general emotional turmoil and recovery, heavy dissociation and rapid cycling (if you want to skip the actual incident, scroll to the first "~*~", but it's referenced throughout the chapter, so some of you may want to skip this one entirely)

The next time a middle-of-the-night self-harm alert goes out from JARVIS, Tony isn’t the closest to Barnes’ apartment, and so Steve gets there first. When Tony  _ does _ arrive, he kind of wishes he’d told JARVIS to only direct these alerts to certain people in the Tower, because the scene in front of him is in no way ideal. Standing in front of the bathroom mirror this time, the rivulets of blood running down the alter’s forearms are familiar, but he looks even more dead-eyed than he did the first time, like he’s completely numb even as Steve stands there shouting at him, his hands in fists at his side. 

“What the fuck are you doing? I’m serious, stop that, you’re hurting them!” The alter doesn’t respond, continuing to stare at the mirror while tracing a thin line with a blade, and Steve continues, even as Tony’s hurrying across the space to intercept. “All right, fuck, that’s it for negotiation—if you don’t drop that knife in three seconds, I’ll make you drop it.”

“Cap. Stop,” Tony growls, putting his body in between Steve and Barnes without regard for how stupid that could potentially be. “You’re not helping.”

“Tony, get out of the way. That’s not Yasha. Or Winter. Or James.”

“Yes, I’m  _ aware _ of that.”

“He’s going to kill them!”

“No he’s not. But you’re aggravating the situation right now, and I need you to back off.” Over Steve’s shoulder, Tony spots Sam coming into the apartment.  _ Thank God _ .

“Like hell I will! You think I’m just gonna let him slit his wrists?!”

“Jesus fuck, he’s not… look, I can’t deal with you right now.” Quickly assessing the situation, it’s clear that Tony’s not going to be able to use the approach that worked before while Steve is simultaneously yelling at him, and given the fact that the alter in the bathroom is just  _ not reacting _ to their outburst, even defensively, Tony’s not sure he could do much even if Steve could be removed. He nods at Sam, gesturing for him to come in and then at the bathroom. “Hey, Sam, can you triage this? He’s not responding at all. I’ve got Steve.”

“Yeah, if you don’t think he’s violent, I’ve got it,” Sam quickly agrees.

“I don’t think he will be, if you’re gentle,” Tony confirms, ignoring Steve’s wide-eyed sputtering. “Shout if there’s a problem, we’ll be right outside.”

“Are you listening to yourself?” Steve exclaims. “ _ Not violent _ ?!”

“Not violent to others isn’t the same thing as not violent to yourself,” Sam interjects calmly, quickly sizing up the situation. The alter hasn’t stopped doing what he’s doing, still doesn’t even seem to notice any of them, but his motions with the knife are slow, deliberate. “Steve. The best thing you can do for James and Bucky right now is to let me handle this. It’s not my first experience with self-harm.” He grips Steve’s forearm with one hand, meeting his eyes, and Steve hesitates for a moment before he nods brusquely and follows Tony into the hallway, promising to be back momentarily. As soon as they’re clear of the apartment, though, standing in front of the elevator bank, Steve’s back to livid, growling at Tony. 

“You have two minutes to convince me you’re not out of your goddamned mind, Stark. I was trying to defuse the situation.”

“Yeah, I know you were, but you have no idea what you’re doing.”

“Like you do?!”

“I don’t, which is why I’m glad Sam’s in there, but I kept him from hurting himself once before, didn’t I? Does that count for anything?” 

“I thought they were getting better! Why does he keep coming back if…” 

“Because recovery’s not linear, which you’d know if you  _ ever _ set foot in a fucking therapist’s office,” Tony mutters.

“This isn’t about me,” Steve snaps.

“No? I think it’s exactly about you. You need to learn not to jump to conclusions sometimes, Cap. Especially about things you don’t understand.” Tony sighs. “We may not know this alter much at all, but we might be able to help him, if we don’t just run in guns blazing every time he shows up.”

“Well excuse me for not being super ready to extend a helping hand to the selfish jerk sharing a body with my boyfriends! What if this happens again and he succeeds? Hell, Sam’s alone in there with him, what if he tries again  _ right now _ ?”

“Okay first of all, dumbass, cutting and a suicide attempt aren’t the same thing. And second of all,  _ still not helping _ .”

“Oh, fuck you.”

“I’m serious! There is a big damn difference between someone aiming for their wrists and what he was doing, and even if there wasn’t, he’s a super soldier. You can be in there in five seconds if Sam calls for it, and he’d survive long enough to be sedated and receive care. So just take a breath, Steve, and realize it’s not that kind of emergency.”

“Why would he be cutting himself, then? What other reason is there?”

“Fuck, I am  _ really _ not qualified for this,” Tony groans, scrubbing a hand over his face. “You need to talk to Sam. But not right now. JARVIS, can you give us an update? Do we need to get Dr. Adeyemi out of bed?”

“I don’t believe so, at this time,” JARVIS responds immediately. “But I will alert her that she will be needed in the morning. Mr. Wilson has convinced the alter to relinquish his knife and is talking to him, though the alter is not currently verbally responsive. His eyes have started tracking movement and no other vitals indicate physical distress.”

“Okay, great. That’s a good sign, Steve,” Tony adds, gentling his tone and putting a hand on Steve’s upper arm. “They’re going to be okay. You didn’t lose anyone tonight. You’re not going to.” 

“Well, you’re still a jackass,” Steve growls, and Tony just throws his hands in the air, giving up.

“Fine. Not exactly news. I’ll be in the penthouse if anyone needs me.” 

Once he’s gone into the elevator, Steve steps back into the apartment, putting his back to the wall and slumping down to sit next to the door. The soft tones of Sam’s voice in the bathroom are enough to get him out of his highest alert state, but he still knows he won’t be sleeping anytime soon.

~*~

The next morning, Sam gets four hours of shut-eye before Steve shows up in his apartment, breakfast in hand, not looking the slightest bit guilty. He doesn’t look particularly  _ good _ either, though, and Sam takes pity on him, inviting him inside and pouring coffee as Steve spreads cream cheese on bagels. Yasha has been with Dr. Adeyemi since six, which is when Sam finally got to bed, and of course Steve has no news. 

“Stark said I should talk to you. About why he’s doing this. And I think Stark’s an ass, but I still want to know,” Steve adds grumpily. Sam just smirks at that, because it is, well, very Steve.

“I’m not disagreeing that Stark’s an ass. But you did come in kind of hot last night, from what JARVIS showed me.”

“I thought he was going to kill them,” Steve admits, only a tiny bit sheepish. “I thought I could snap him out of it. Or fight him, if not.”

“Right. Well… I’m glad you didn’t try. I don’t think he would’ve fought back, but it wouldn’t have helped, either.” Sam sighs, stirring milk into his coffee and taking a seat across from Steve. “How much do you know about self-harm? Anything?”

Steve shrugs. “I know guys who tried to end it. Battle fatigue. Sometimes just by getting in the way of the enemy’s gun.”

“Okay. So that’s a suicide attempt, and that’s not the same. It’s actually a very different motivation, though I understand why you’d be confused, seeing what you did.” 

“When Tony told us about the time before… isn’t that what happened? He talked the same alter out of a suicide attempt?”

“No, but now I feel like an idiot for not thinking to explain it to you. Probably when Tony said ‘cutting,’ that’s what you pictured, right?” Steve nods. “Okay. That’s our bad. We were focused on the Avengers at the time, but we should’ve realized this would come up again and you wouldn’t have the background to know the difference.”

“Why  _ is _ it so different?” Steve asks. “Isn’t cutting just… a suicide attempt that doesn’t finish?”

“Not at all. It’s not that there’s  _ no _ possible suicide risk with Barnes, but what we found wasn’t that. He was cutting his forearms, not his wrists. Dr. Adeyemi hasn’t been concerned about suicidality, and if she was, he’d be off the team and we’d be talking about other precautions. I know he wasn’t verbal this time, but when Tony found him the last time, he was talking about punishment and seemed to be identifying with his HYDRA captors. We knew this was a possibility with some alters, right? You read about persecutors?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t think he’d hurt  _ himself _ because of it.” 

“It’s pretty common, Steve. I know it’s hard as fuck, but it’s something a lot of people with DID deal with. Even outside of that, it’s a common coping mechanism for people with all sorts of mental health issues. It doesn’t usually mean someone wants to die, it just means they’re having trouble handling what’s going on inside their head. Some people do it because it’s an outlet for overwhelming feelings, some just want to be able to externalize their pain… and some people do it because they think they deserve punishment, even when things aren’t as fucked up as what happened to Barnes. Dr. Adeyemi and her team know how to work with the system through this. It’s not something insurmountable. I’m going to talk to her, too, about working with the whole team to be more prepared next time. I meant to get to that before, but it just slipped my mind with everything else that was going on. We can prioritize it now.” 

“All right,” Steve agrees with a deep sigh. “That... all sounds good, Sam. I just… don’t ask me to befriend the guy, if he keeps showing up. I can’t do that. Even if he didn’t want… he’s still hurting them,” he murmurs, and Sam reaches across the table to squeeze his arm with a sympathetic smile. 

“I know. Bucky is safe as he can be. So’s James. You did everything you could think of to do, and we’re getting them the help they need. Maybe… you can get some help, too. Beyond just talking to me.”

“I don’t know,” Steve sighs, contemplating his poppyseed bagel as if it holds the secrets to the universe. “Maybe.”

~*~

When Yasha’s released after hours of therapy, Tony’s waiting for him. His eyes are bloodshot from not sleeping and too much caffeine, and his thoughts are a little fuzzy, but he goes immediately into Yasha’s arms as soon as he steps into the workshop.

“Hey. You’re safe,” Tony mumbles against his chest, more to confirm it for himself than to actually inform Yasha.

“Yes,” Yasha agrees. “I don’t know… how long…” He trails off, and Tony lifts his head, waiting for him to find the tail end of his thought. It’s not very frequent with Yasha, but sometimes when someone in the system is stressed, complete sentences and maintaining focus are an issue. “I was rapid-cycling,” he manages several long moments later. 

“Ah.” Tony’s expression goes soft, and he pushes up on his toes to kiss Yasha’s cheek. “That’s okay. Whoever’s here, they can hang with me,” he offers. Rapid-cycling is the term Dr. Adeyemi uses for when the system is under stress, and it’s hard for any one alter to stay at the surface for very long. 

“Thank you,” Yasha murmurs, then sticks his face in Tony’s hair, inhaling deeply. Tony can’t help but smile fondly to himself, and leads them over to the sofa, where they sit down as one immediately-cuddled unit. “Steve… is he…”

“An interfering idiot?” Tony suggests, and Yasha snuffles a laugh into his neck. “Do you remember anything from last night?”

“No. But… he responded first?”

“Yeah.” 

“I think… there was yelling?” Yasha asks, his tone suggesting that he might have some idea from the alter who was present but no actual certainty as to the facts.

“Probably the less said about that the better. Steve Rogers isn’t my favorite person right now. But yeah, there was yelling. He didn’t really know what was happening when he showed up.” 

Yasha frowns. “Will he… yell… James?”

“I don’t think so,” Tony offers, patiently letting Yasha parse out his slow question. “James is safe with him.”

“But not…” Yasha frowns and nuzzles Tony’s neck. “Later.” 

He falls silent then, and Tony just strokes down his spine, allowing him to take his time. It’s ten minutes of a fairly blank expression and occasional little jerks or fast blinks before anyone speaks again, this time in Russian.

“Mne nravitsa tvaya talstovka. Lyublyu myagkiye veshchi.”

“You like my… Tolstoy?” Tony attempts to translate before JARVIS can throw the words up on a wall, and Winter just giggles against him. 

“I believe the translation is ‘hoodie’ or ‘sweatshirt,’ Sir,” JARVIS corrects aloud, displaying “I like soft things” alongside the first sentence in English.

“Ohhh. That makes significantly more sense.” Tony grins, combing his fingers through Winter’s hair. “You like soft things, hmm?”

_ Yes. Comfort. They comfort me _ . His words, like Yasha’s, are slow in coming, and JARVIS displays the translations as they’re available.  _ You’re learning Russian? _

“Oh. Yeah. Surprise,” Tony admits a bit sheepishly. “I don’t know much yet, though. I wanted to tell you when I was further along.”

Winter beams at him like he hung the moon, and rather than responding verbally, pushes himself into Tony’s body like he’s about half his actual size, cuddling like he’s trying to burrow under Tony’s skin. Tony laughs and strokes his hair, and when he can get his lips near Winter’s ear, whispers “ya tebya lyublyu” just to keep that grin on his face. 

~*~

For a few days, Steve and Tony pretty much avoid each other whenever they can. Barnes, meanwhile, sticks to his own apartment, Bruce’s, Tony’s workshop, or the penthouse. Steve finds himself going to the common areas even more than usual, just hoping to run into James and get his take on the whole thing. But he doesn’t see any of the alters at all until a week has passed, and he comes upon Yasha and Tony late one evening standing at the kitchen island eating a late night snack. 

“Uh… hey. Sorry to interrupt,” Steve offers, trying to be at least minimally polite. “But… could you let James know I’m looking for him?” Yasha eyes him rather suspiciously, or at least it feels that way, a lot like when they first met. In response, Steve instinctively tenses, crossing his arms. “What?”

“If you see James, are you going to be calm?” he asks, in what Steve thinks is a pretty openly accusatory tone. 

“Calm? I mean, I might be excited to see him,” Steve counters. “He is my boyfriend.”

Yasha frowns. “You’re not going to freak out about what happened?”

“Jeez, what have you been telling him?” Steve complains, shifting his gaze to Tony.

“Nothing! I mean, he asked if you yelled, and I said yes, but that was just confirmation. I wasn’t unfair.”

“Oh, great, Tony, that’s just swell. I don’t suppose you told him my  _ totally justifiable _ reasons for being upset?” 

“I didn’t put together a ten-point argument from your perspective, Steve, no,” Tony replies, rolling his eyes a bit. “I think Yasha’s got more important things to worry about.”

“More important than holding my boyfriend hostage? More important than that?” Steve knows his face is reddening and his tone getting heated, but he can’t help himself. Yasha just drives him so crazy sometimes, and Tony isn’t any better.

“I’m not holding him hostage, I’m assessing the situation and what he’s comfortable handling. You need to acknowledge your own shit,” Yasha says gruffly, and Steve throws his hands up.

“Great. Now you’re my therapist, too.”

“I don’t know, Rogers, Yasha’s a better therapist than yours is,” Tony snarks. “You know, that super qualified mental health professional that  _ doesn’t exist _ .”

“Oh fuck off, that’s my business.”

“Not when you’re running off half-cocked potentially harming someone in the body  _ both _ our boyfriends share, it’s not. That pretty much makes it my business.” 

“Tony,” Steve growls, stepping towards Stark (who has also stepped a little closer to him in the course of this conversation). He doesn’t get to finish his sentence, though, because Yasha’s suddenly shoving him in the chest, hard enough to make him stumble back a few steps. 

“You don’t touch him,” Yasha snarls, sharp and much more passionate than Steve is used to compared to his usual cool demeanor. Steve frowns and moves towards Yasha, instinctively determined to hold his ground, but he pauses when Yasha’s whole arm shivers, the metal plates recalibrating, and the fire in Yasha’s eyes makes him reconsider whether this fight is one he wants to have. Not wanting to hurt the body in front of him, of course, puts him at a distinct disadvantage if things get physical, and Yasha obviously doesn’t have any such qualms. 

“You can’t keep James away from me forever,” Steve argues after a moment, choosing to shift his tack rather than prove Yasha right about his temper or unpredictability.

“No. But right now, you need to back off.”

Steve hesitates another moment, but he can recognize a fight he can’t win, and so he turns on his heel, heading back to the elevators. Maybe he does need a fucking therapist. Being around Yasha much longer is going to give him anger management issues, at the very least.

~*~

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” James mutters when he blinks back to the front, resting his hand over Bruce’s. They’re sitting together on Bruce’s sofa, ostensibly for an evening alone, but James and Yasha have been rapid-cycling back and forth the whole time, along with several long periods of in-between where the person sharing space with Bruce can’t actually identify  _ who _ he is for a while.

“It’s okay,” Bruce soothes, turning his hand palm-up and squeezing. “You’re having a rough time. I’m here. No expectations.”

James manages a smile at that, leaning into Bruce’s body a bit. “Thanks. I’m just so tired of Steve and Tony fighting,” he admits. “It’s fucking awkward for us.”

“I can’t imagine.”

“It takes all of Yasha’s energy just to stay stable around Steve, and I get it, but I want to see him, and then when Steve’s  _ not _ around the body’s too exhausted and so it’s this fucking merry-go-ground. I’m so  _ tired _ . Honestly, don’t tell Steve, but I’d give him up for another week if I could just spend it  _ sleeping _ .”

Bruce smiles sympathetically and rubs gently at the back of his neck. “Want to spend the night? I don’t mind if I wake up with someone I didn’t expect.”

James laughs and nods, pressing into his hand. “Yeah. That could be good. Just no hard feelings if I wander off in the night. The Asset’s been showing up a lot too. I don’t think he trusts this.”

“That’s all right. He thinks I’m his handler, anyway, so…” Bruce shrugs and James groans a little. 

“That’s so fucking weird. But yeah, okay, I’m not  _ worried _ about you, it’s just weird.”

“I don’t  _ dis _ agree,” Bruce admits. “You know what else is funny? I think the Hulk recognized him.”

“What, when Yasha got hurt?”

“Yeah. Tony called the Hulk in for backup and I have a kind of vague memory of it. I think he has enough of my memories to have known who that was.”

“Whoa. Maybe  _ you _ should go see Dr. Adeyemi…”

Bruce laughs, tugging lightly at James’ hair. “Yeah, I think I’ll pass.”

~*~

Steve feels awkward as hell, when he finally admits that an apology is in order. After talking it through with Sam, he decides to use writing, and to address the system as a whole rather than Yasha or James or even the persecutor alter, whose name he doesn’t know anyway. He goes through several handwritten drafts before he settles on something, and slips the envelope under Barnes’ door. 

_ To everyone who lives in this apartment, _

_ I’m sorry.  _

_ I was kind of a dick to Yasha, and it wasn’t fair to him. I know it’s probably hard, for all of you, when that particular alter comes to the front. I forget to think about how hard it must be for Yasha to protect the system, and that he’s not just trying to fuck with me when he won’t let me see James.  _ <strike> _ But I still miss James.  _ </strike>

_ I’ve read up on persecutors again, and on self-harm. I don’t want to re-trigger you (that’s Sam’s word, I’m guessing you know what it means from your shrink), so I won’t talk details, but when I came to try and help that night, I didn’t understand what was happening. I assumed some things, and I was  _ _ <strike>scared</strike> <strike>concerned </strike> _ _ scared for James and Bucky. I overreacted. You can ask Bucky, it’s hard for me to admit when I’m scared, but I was. I can’t lose either of them. But Sam helped me understand that I wasn’t going to, and maybe I have some “stuff” (his word again) that was clouding my judgement.  _

_ I met with one of the doctors on Dr. Adeyemi’s team to learn about what to do if this happens again. If I can’t follow the protocol myself, I’ll get help. I won’t yell (at any of you) again, if I can help it. I can’t promise for sure, because I know I have a temper, and get so angry sometimes, but I’ll try. I can promise to try. (Even when it’s Yasha, and he’s pissing me off.)  _

_ All I want is for you to be okay.  _

_ Steven G. Rogers _

~*~

“Damn.” Natasha gives the letter one last once-over, then hands it back to Yasha, leaning back in her chair. He raises a questioning eyebrow at her. “You don’t know Steve like I do. That was… exceptionally emotionally vulnerable, for him.”

Yasha frowns. “Should I be impressed?”

“Not my call,” Natasha replies easily. “But that’s not why you showed it to me.”

“No,” Yasha agrees. “I don’t know how to evaluate Steve as a threat anymore,” he admits. 

“Well. Same thing I told you before,” she reasons. “He won’t hurt you physically. And at this point I’m pretty sure he knows he can’t make you go away.”

“He wants greater access to James. Not only Bucky.”

“Okay. You seemed to be doing okay with sharing up until this whole thing blew up.”

Yasha shrugs. “James and I have… a balance. I can’t evaluate its permanence.”

“Fair enough. For what it’s worth… Steve cares about Tony. He cares quite a bit.” Yasha frowns, but she just waves him off. “Not  _ romantically _ , just, it’s mutual. They both value each other, and they see each other as family, and they get on each other’s nerves because that’s just how their personalities are. Family doesn’t necessarily mean you get along all that well with each other.”

“How would you know?” Yasha asks, blunt, and Natasha hides the sting under a perfect poker face. Instead, she just gestures vaguely to the Tower around them. 

“I’m figuring it out.” As she leaves his apartment, she can’t quite resist a parting comment over her shoulder. “Pretty sure you are, too.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Winter is a soft, soft boy. Basically that is the best summary I can come up with for this chapter?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: trauma-holder alter being situationally triggered to the front, some very non-specific references to abuse, alter being stuck at the front, intrusive sexual thoughts

Over the weeks that follow, everyone settles back into a routine at the Tower. Steve and James go back to their dates, Bucky makes his occasional appearances (always in private with Steve), Tony spends as much time as he can get with Yasha and gets periodic cuddles with Winter. Occasionally he finds some part of his living or working space very rigorously organized, and he starts leaving Post-It notes in blocky Russian text in reply (yeah, okay, technically there’s no such thing as ‘print’ in Russian, but who has time to learn a completely new alphabet of handwriting?). James does yoga with Bruce and gym time with Sam and Steve, and though the Asset usually appears when no one else is around, the others get used to his occasional mostly silent presence in the common areas late at night.

And then one night, covered in grease from the workshop and intending to make a beeline to the many jets of his unnecessarily luxurious shower, Tony comes upon Yasha sitting calmly at the foot of his bed, boots planted on the carpet, a circle of what looks like braided deep red leather in his lap. Yasha looks up, meets his eyes, and Tony’s mouth nearly drops open. 

“Is that…”

“A collar.” Yasha’s thumbs trace over the leather cords, but his eyes don’t leave Tony’s. “You said it would mean something. I want it to,” he says simply, and Tony is struck uncharacteristically silent. When he doesn’t say anything, Yasha pushes up to his feet, strides forward, and meets Tony a few inches apart. “Do you want it?”

“Yes,” Tony whispers. “I just…” He reaches for it, then stops himself, not wanting to get the black grease on the gorgeous red color.  _ His  _ color, he realizes, noticing the gold clasp at the back. “I know I suggested it. But I didn’t think you’d… Fuck, this is stupid,” he mutters, choked up all of a sudden. 

“Tell me,” Yasha demands, letting the collar dangle around his metal fingers as the flesh ones grip the back of Tony’s neck. That pressure makes it easier.

“I didn’t know to want it. And I  _ do _ . And it’s… it doesn’t seem real, that someone would want their collar around my neck,” Tony admits in a rapid cascade of words that are uncomfortable to express even as he’s saying them. Yasha, for his part, doesn’t seem to need words, and instead he takes Tony’s mouth in a long, claiming kiss. 

“You are mine,” Yasha murmurs, their foreheads pressed together, when he finally lets their mouths break apart. “I want you. Always,” he adds, holding the collar up again for Tony’s inspection, and he realizes that the red leather cord is braided somehow into a series of tight infinity loops. His throat goes dry, and he thinks probably he should point something out about how adult relationships don’t actually last forever and that’s a really childish notion when you think about it, and they should expect that they’re going to disappoint each other at  _ some _ point, but he just… doesn’t want to.

“Yes,” Tony says instead, and Yasha clasps the collar around his neck, where it fits snugly but not too tight, and he doesn’t even care that he’s getting sweat on it and will have to remove it again in five minutes to shower and oh my God leather care is going to be a whole  _ thing _ with how dirty he tends to get. Yasha’s hands encircle his neck over the leather, his gaze warm and possessive, and none of that fucking matters.

~*~

“Don’t get your fishy smell too close to me,” James teases, leaning back in his chair, against the corner where two walls of the deli meet, and eyeing Steve’s tuna melt dubiously. Steve rolls his eyes and takes a big bite. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Steve mumbles with his mouth full, and James makes a grossed-out face that’s legible despite his ball cap and the bandana around his face that he intermittently sneaks bites of reuben under. They don’t often eat in public, since the bandana makes it a bit of a pain. Tony’s offered to design a face mask with a hole for his mouth, but James argues that it’ll come off looking creepy, perverted, or probably both, so this works for now. 

“I’m not kissing you until you brush your teeth. I want that on the record.”

“Sure,” Steve agrees easily, turning his bag of potato chips so that James can reach for a handful. This also makes him put his chair back on four legs and lean in across the table, which was part of Steve’s sneaky plan. “You’re beautiful even when you’re being an asshole, you know,” he murmurs  _ sotto voce _ , and James’ eyes flick down like he’s definitely blushing beneath the fabric.

“I’m not an asshole. Tuna’s weird,” he mutters, but he also taps Steve’s ankle with his boot under the table, obviously pleased. Bucky never had a problem with tunafish sandwiches, and Steve finds it distantly fascinating how the different alters have different reactions through the same tastebuds, though he doesn’t know the science behind it. 

“Your face is weird,” he retorts with a grin, but something shifts a little in James’ expression, his eyes catching something over Steve’s shoulder and his eyes going blank. Steve frowns, angles his body nonchalantly so that he can observe the rest of the small dining area and the line for the deli counter, but he doesn’t see anyone obviously suspicious or any activity that might catch James’ eye. When he looks back, James is still preternaturally still, but then his eyes come to focus on Steve and he’s scooting his chair back into the corner, his body language suddenly completely different.

“Um… Yasha?” Steve tries, wondering if some threat was spotted, though the body across the table is a little hunched and frightened-looking, not what he’d actually expect from Yasha. Sure enough, a headshake in response and a name, just a whisper that Steve picks out from the conversation around them with his enhanced hearing.

“Zima.” 

_ Oh, fuck _ , Steve thinks. He’s never met Winter, as far as he knows only Tony, discounting Sam and a handful of political higher-ups that one time, has met Winter. And Winter showing up unexpectedly in public means nothing good, given his role in the system of holding specific traumatic memories. Steve keeps his chair angled so he can see anyone approaching their table, but also keep an eye on Winter directly. Though Steve can only see his eyes, there’s a world going on between his gaze and his body language--he looks maybe two-thirds freaked out, one-third resigned. 

“You’re safe,” Steve promises in a calm, low tone. “I’m going to keep you safe. Can you tell me if you’re in any immediate danger?” he offers.  _ Who in this cafe is HYDRA? _ is the unspoken subtext. Winter just blinks at him, eyes darting between Steve and the rest of the room, arms protectively crossed in front of his body.

“ _ N’znayu _ ,” Winter mumbles, and Steve has enough basic Russian to recognize the phrase.  _ I don’t know _ . He’s not entirely sure whether Winter’s more afraid of someone in the restaurant or  _ him _ , but he also doesn’t know exactly what to do. Another glance around the cafe doesn’t reveal anyone suspicious, or anyone looking at them. When he looks back, Winter is blinking rapidly, flinching at something unseen. Steve frowns and slowly removes his phone from his pocket, not wanting to startle Winter.

“Tony. I’ve got a problem. Can you track my location?”

“Yeah, of course, what do you need?”

“We were having lunch. I’ve got Winter here. No obvious threats,” he murmurs as quietly as he can. “But I think he’s having flashbacks. I’m pretty sure he saw someone familiar. Not sure he trusts me, either.”

“Fuck. I’m en route. Stay close. He’s not trying to get away from you?”

“No. We’re at a corner table,” Steve explains, hearing the metallic sounds of Tony’s suit assembling around him in the background.

“Okay. Stay there. If there is a threat, they’re not going to approach with Captain America sitting right there. Just hang tight, two minutes,” Tony promises. Sure enough, Tony’s shows up just inside of his estimate, looking calm and composed in slacks and rolled-up shirtsleeves, carrying a suitcase suit in one hand. He keeps his head down as he walks towards them, and no one reacts obviously to Tony Stark entering the deli, other than one little kid whose eyes follow Tony with a look of confused half-recognition. He slides the suitcase under Steve’s chair, and immediately crouches down next to the table between them, closer to Winter’s chair, his whole demeanor going soft and attentive. 

“Hey Snow Angel,” Tony murmurs, very gently resting a hand on Winter’s knee. “I’m here. You’re safe.” Winter blinks a few more times, his focus shifting only slowly to Tony, but to Steve’s utter relief recognition sparks in his eyes and his posture softens a bit. 

“ _ Ti prishel _ ,” Winter mumbles, touching Tony’s face with a shaky hand.

“ _ Vsyegda _ .” Steve recognizes the word, “always.” Tony rests his hand over Winter’s and squeezes. “ _ Kto eto? _ ” Winter’s eyes lift and track across the room, and he murmurs something in Russian to Tony that Steve doesn’t quite get. 

“ _ Khorosho. Ti khorosho _ ,” Tony praises before pivoting to Steve, keeping his voice low.

“Black sweater, high-top table near the door.”

“I see him.”

“Ah, fuck. And he sees you,” Tony mutters under his breath. Sure enough, the mark in question goes tight and his eyes widen when they meets Steve’s, taking in their little group. He doesn’t act as if he’d noticed them at all, to this point, but he’s out the door, his coffee left half-full on the table, before anything else can be said. “Go!” Tony barks, and Steve’s already jumping to his feet.

“Going!”

As Cap rushes out after the man, Tony turns back to Winter, taking both his hands. 

“You’re safe,” he murmurs again in Russian. “You’re safe. I’m here. He’s gone. Steve’s got him.” 

“You don’t… need to go?” Winter asks, and Tony immediately shakes his head.

“You’re my priority,” he explains, switching back to English as his vocabulary fails him. “Steve can call in backup if he needs it. I’m getting you back to the Tower now. All right?”

Winter nods, and Tony gathers their food back onto a tray, tossing the rest of it into the trash before grabbing his suitcase and holding out a hand to Winter. Fortunately, he follows without complaint, and Tony snags the coffee cup the target had been drinking from on the way out the door. “DNA,” he explains to Winter. “Even if Cap can’t grab him, we’re going to make sure that man never hurts you again.” 

Winter just offers another little nod, and Tony ducks them into an alleyway, thumbing the biometric lock and then dropping the suitcase on the ground. “Can you hold this in your metal hand for me? And then hang on?” Yet another nod, and Tony steps on the latch that triggers the suit to open, stepping into it and letting the metal mold around his body before reaching out for Winter to help him balance on one jetboot. It’s a much slower flight back to the Tower, nothing like his bat-out-of-hell exit the moment he’d heard Winter was in trouble, but it still doesn’t take long before they’re home, Tony’s free of the suit, and Winter is in his arms. 

“Shit. Okay. We’re home. I’ve got you. We’re home,” Tony murmurs, over and over as he holds Winter to his chest and feels his own throat swell up a bit now that the initial adrenaline rush has passed. “JARVIS?” he calls out as an afterthought after a few rounds of those soothing phrases. “Any updates?”

“Captain Rogers has apprehended his target several blocks north of the cafe, and Agents Romanoff and Barton are en route in a secure vehicle to provide transport to an appropriate location for interrogation.”

“All right.  _ Not _ the Tower, Jarv, can we do that?”

“Certainly, Sir, I will relay the message.”

“Any positive ID?”

“Not at this time, though I will commence a search when I am able to obtain a clear visual.”

“Got it. Thanks.”

“Of course, Sir.”

“Thank fuck. You hear that, sweetheart? All clear. He’s not coming anywhere near you.” 

Winter nods and nuzzles a little against Tony’s sternum. “I’m okay,” he affirms in English, and it’s clearly not for himself nearly as much as it is for Tony. 

“Right,” Tony smiles, though it feels a little weak. “That was a lot of excitement, though. Sit with me?” Winter nods, and he directs them both to one of the huge couches. The common area’s empty of anyone else, and so he stretches out lengthwise along one, bundling Winter into his arms to lie down with his head against Tony’s chest. Stroking his fingers rhythmically through Winter’s hair, he feels his heartbeat eventually begin to return to normal. 

“This is pretty,” Winter remarks after a few quiet minutes, reaching up to touch Tony’s collar. He’d been in such a rush, he realizes, he hadn’t bothered to button his shirt collar up over it, but honestly that had been the least of his concerns.

“Thanks,” Tony smiles. “It’s Yasha’s.”

“Like you are?” Winter suggests, and Tony blinks at how perceptive he is. 

“Well… yeah. Exactly.” Winter hums in response, his smile soft, and he pets at the leather a bit before sliding his hand back down to Tony’s chest.

“Out of curiosity,” Tony wonders. “And there’s really no wrong answer here, don’t think that there is… but I’m wondering why Yasha didn’t come out today. To protect you, I mean, since there was a possible physical threat. Do you know?”

Winter’s quiet for a moment, and when he does respond, it’s in Russian, the translation projected on the ceiling for Tony to read. “Yasha’s job is to take physical abuse, yes. But not from… him. Not from people like him.”

“People you remember?”

“People who hurt us,” Winter specifies. “When we see people who hurt us, it’s already… too late. To protect us. So I protect him.”

“You protect Yasha?” Tony clarifies.

“Yes. If I am here, then Yasha won’t…” Winter’s face scrunches up a bit, his cheek rubbing against Tony’s chest. “If they hurt us, he doesn’t… he shouldn’t have to take that.”

“Oh,” Tony says softly. “So you come out when you recognize someone who abused you, because that way if they do it again, Yasha won’t re-experience the abuse?”

“Yes,” Winter agrees, looping his arms around Tony’s waist. Tony goes quiet again after that, processing the new information. Though he had the jist of what a trauma-holder would do for the system, he hadn’t thought of it in such stark terms before. His awe for Winter only grows, and he can’t help but hold on tighter, unshed tears stinging his eyes. Whomever Steve has in custody, Tony wants him to  _ burn _ .

~*~

Eventually Tony and Winter head to the penthouse, to avoid stumbling upon other Avengers before Winter’s ready to engage with them. They eat soup for dinner and after a while Tony realizes that Winter hasn’t actually spoken in twenty minutes. His expression frequently goes blank, his eyes sometimes tracking strangely, but he doesn’t switch, and Tony’s not really sure what else to do for him. JARVIS offers an update on the interrogation, but Tony doesn’t want Winter to hear details, as well as the more helpful advice that Winter might be memory-cycling after the events of the day, which would explain his current demeanor and brain activity. 

Tony tries working on his tablet for a bit, with Winter snuggled up to his side on the sofa, but he’s too distracted, and eventually pulls up Winter’s Pinterest account instead, holding the screen so they can both see. “I like how you have the colors organized,” he offers, flipping through a board of red things, then a board of gold. The items themselves don’t have an obvious connection, other than the color, but the monochrome effect is striking. Winter doesn’t comment, but his body does go a bit softer as Tony scrolls. After a while, he has another idea, and drops the tablet.

“Hey, I just remembered something I haven’t shown you yet. You know how you said you like soft things? Well, I wasn’t really sure what to get, so um, I kind of went nuts,” he admits, tugging Winter by the hand to one of the penthouse guest bedrooms and sheepishly leading him inside. The bed, and a good portion of the floor, are completely overwhelmed with plush blankets, pillows, and soft toys. It really does look ridiculous, he realizes, and his cheeks start to feel warm as Winter just stares at the pile. “Uh… you can pick your favorites, we can return everything else,” he offers, but Winter just takes a sudden running leap, flopping into the center of the pile and sending half the smaller items rolling onto the floor. He gives Tony a little smile, and Tony just beams and beams, seeing the big man pretty much swallowed up by everything fuzzy that Internet shopping has to offer. He climbs onto the bed next to Winter and snuggles up, tugging a blanket over them, and he has to admit that the little cocoon is pretty amazing, as things he’s come up with go. 

“Perfect,” Winter mumbles, nuzzling into Tony again, and Tony feels like he’s won every prize.

~*~

They end up dozing off in the cuddle nest, but after Tony wakes up needing to pee, they do transition to the bedroom. Winter’s still fronting, “stuck,” he explains with some frustration, and Tony does everything he can to help, which pretty much consists of more snuggles, offering Winter a Rubick’s cube to play with, and putting the Marie Kondo Netflix show on for them to watch in bed. On his tablet, he gets a written update from JARVIS on the man in Avengers custody, who seems to be a Ukranian medical doctor recruited by HYDRA at a young age, now under witness protection. The good news being, he’s no longer HYDRA, and wasn’t targeting either Steve or Barnes in the cafe. The bad news being, Tony probably can’t actually murder him and get away with it. 

He’s just considering whether he can step away for a few minutes to have a conversation with the team when Winter nuzzles up against his neck, kissing the sensitive skin there. The episode has ended, he realizes, and Winter’s focus has apparently shifted. As soft lips find the spot behind his ear, Tony realizes he’s definitely too weak to keep thinking about their HYDRA problem under the onslaught, and lets the tablet fall to the mattress next to him with a soft sigh.

“Mm. That feels really good, sweetheart,” Tony encourages, twisting his lower body so that he can reach around and stroke with gentle fingertips at the base of Winter’s spine. Winter makes a contented sound and keeps kissing, occasionally giving him a little lick or a nibble. It feels terribly hedonistic, and he loves it, zoning out so that it’s quite a surprise when Winter’s teeth suddenly close sharply over a tendon. 

“Ah!” Tony’s fingers jerk, his hand pressing tighter against Winter’s body to ground himself, and at his gasp the bite deepens. Tony whimpers, definitely confused, but not  _ objecting _ per se. “...Yasha?” he asks hesitantly, but when the head next to him pops up, the sheepish look on his face is still all Winter. He shakes his head and buries his face into Tony’s neck, a deep red blush gracing his cheeks.

“Hey… hey sweetheart, it’s okay, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to assume… it’s just…”

After a few more nuzzles, Winter tugs a little at Tony’s hair, directing him to look up at the ceiling, and JARVIS projects as he translates the Russian words mumbled into Tony’s neck. “I’m sorry. It’s… Yasha’s close. He’s… hungry,” Winter says after a moment of hesitation, and Tony can’t really hold back a full-body shiver. “But he can’t front. I’m still stuck.”

“Okay, sweetheart. It’s okay. I want you here as long as I have you,” Tony reassures, stroking in broad motions up and down his back. He doesn’t want Winter to feel like he’s second fiddle to Yasha, after all, it’s just hard not to react to certain things.

“I’m sorry I don’t… always have clear lines,” Winter mumbles. “I don’t like it, but… the doctor calls them ‘intrusive thoughts.’” The last two words are in English, and Tony makes a soothing sound, moving his hand up to pet Winter’s hair.

“Okay. It’s okay to me that it’s not always clear lines,” Tony reassures him. “But I’m sorry it’s intrusive. It’s, uh… sexual stuff?” he guesses. “That he wants but you don’t?”

Winter nods, still face-planted in his neck. 

“Nothing’s going to happen that you don’t want,” Tony promises. “But if you can’t help it… like… if you need to bite me because of him… it’s okay. I know that part’s not you.”

Another nod, but Winter doesn’t go back to either kissing or biting, just snuggles as close as physically possible to Tony with a soft sound. If Tony’s a little hard at the thought of Yasha’s hunger, even trapped behind the consciousness barrier as he is right now, he doesn’t have to mention it. There will be plenty of time to address that later, he suspects.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Hulk is more perceptive than you might think, sometimes information walls have consequences, and Winter just wants to cuddle his Iron Man.

“I’ve been thinking,” Steve admits when his breakfast arrives, dumping syrup over his pancakes and slicing into them to get the liquid to soak through the layers. He hesitates, but Sam doesn’t say anything, just raises his eyebrows and waits patiently for Steve to continue as he sips his coffee. “Okay…  _ if _ I were to go to a therapist… and don’t get excited!” he warns, which Sam just gives him a little smile in response to, still not interrupting. “But if I did it… what does that even look like? I mean, for someone who doesn’t have something like DID, where there are all these things to explain. What do you talk about?”

“Whatever you want, really,” Sam replies with a shrug. “It’s up to you, man. Most people start with some things they want to work on in their life, but some people do it to address a specific challenge and others just want someone to talk to. Some people like the idea of paying a professional, so they don’t feel guilty dumping on their friends. Not that I mind,” he adds quickly. Steve snorts and eats a forkful of pancakes to keep himself from quipping back. “But yeah… the goal of the therapist is to help you with things that you want to solve, or improve, or just process.”

“Okay. But how?”

“Again, it kind of depends. There are a lot of different types of therapy. Here, give me your phone.” Steve passes it across the table, digging into his bacon and eggs as Sam taps around, and when he gets it back Sam’s pulled up a website called Psychology Today with a  _ long _ list of terms. CBT, psychodynamic, motivational interviewing, family systems… he looks back up at Sam, frowning. 

“You don’t have to read about all of those,” Sam reassures him with a smile. “Just an illustration. And most therapists practice multiple modalities. But if you’re interested, that might be a place to start browsing. You could also think about what you want out of a session in general terms. Like, some styles are going to focus on specific techniques you can use when anxiety or panic or other thought patterns come up, and you’ll get homework from the therapist to learn those techniques. Others are more about just talking out what’s happening in your life, and therapist asks questions to direct you. Some therapists focus on specific conditions, like PTSD, and some focus on your connections to other people, or your family history. You can even do something like art or music therapy, or find a therapist who incorporates spiritual practice into their work. If you have an idea of what you’re looking for, I could help direct you.”

“I’m not sure,” Steve admits, looking back down at the list. There’s just so  _ much _ . “Can I think about it and get back to you?”

“Of course, man.” Sam’s smile is sympathetic. “Take your time.”

~*~

The card game is almost certainly made up. It has about 17 rules, and Tony seems to be making up new ones as they go, but it’s fun and that’s what matters. James also plays dirty at cards, much to almost everyone’s amusement–Sam being an exception, as Sam gets the feeling he’s being specifically targeted. Tony’s up by three rounds won, Natasha and James tied at two each, Clint and Steve at one. The rounds are quick, and involve snatching cards off the table, which probably explains why Sam and Bruce aren’t doing well. As they get more competitive, though, it gets a bit rowdier, with players “accidentally” jostling into each other as they dive for a choice card. It’s probably inevitable when Clint eventually knocks over Nat’s beer, and the bottle topples to the floor with a loud crash of breaking glass. 

“Shit, sorry,” Clint mutters, scuttling off to the kitchen to get the broom and dustpan, as most of the others groan and James blinks a few times, looking confused.

“What are we… what’s the game?” he asks, sounding distant as he looks at the cards in his hand and on the table, then up to Tony, once he’s assessed the lack of a threat. Tony grins across the table and fans his cards with a flare.

“Only the greatest contest of cards known to man, beautiful. And because I’m terribly magnanimous, I’ll even let you hold onto James’ points.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Sam grumbles. “The game doesn’t even have a name. We’re pretty sure he made it up to swindle us.”

“Blasphemy!” Tony gasps, holding his hand to his chest. “I’m a billionaire, why would I even do such a thing?”

“Because you like winning,” Steve smirks. “Here, it really is crazy, but I can help you if you want,” he offers, leaning back a little to try to see Yasha’s cards. He gets a glare in response, the cards angled out of his eyeline, and then pressed against Yasha’s chest when Clint comes up behind to sweep up the glass.

“Nice try,” Yasha replies. “But I will figure it out.”

“I have no doubt in you,  _ caro _ ,” Tony asserts with a wink. But before the next hand can be dealt, JARVIS interrupts.

“My apologies, Avengers. I have new information related to the alloys found at the HYDRA lab you raided in Barcelona. I believe you’ll want to review the data right away, Mr. Stark.”

“Shit, okay, thanks JARVIS.” Tony drops his hand face down and pushes up from his chair, grabbing a tablet from a nearby table. “What’ve we got? Need anyone else?”

“I believe a team meeting would be advisable,” JARVIS agrees, and they all leave their cards and drinks behind, following Tony to the elevator bank as he pulls up a screen of color-coded data tables on the tablet. 

“What am I looking at, J?”

“You’ll see the components of the alloys listed to your left. As you know, nothing suspicious was found based on the data on the alloys alone, but I cross-referenced the list with some of the chemical formulations you were studying, Dr. Banner, and other equipment found on site, along with recent shipping manifests, and you’ll notice a disturbing trend.”

“Shit, yeah, I see it,” Tony mutters, quickly swiping through screens and moving data around as the elevator lets them out on the floor where their conference spaces, offices, and interrogation cells are located. At the head of the group, absorbed in his tablet, Tony nearly walks straight into a wall before Yasha darts a hand out to grab him firmly by the back of the neck and steer him into the turn, keeping his grip the rest of the way to the conference room. Tony doesn’t even seem to notice, and the other Avengers exchange glances but don’t say anything as Yasha leads him safely into the room, where he finally looks up at the big screen. 

“You see that, Steve?”

“Those are shell operations for AIM…”

“Bingo! We’ve got villains cooperating, always my favorite thing,” Tony agrees, pulling up a holographic map. “Looks like they’re planning something in Southeast Asia, if I had to guess…”

As Steve and Tony sift through the information projected, and Natasha starts doing her own research on one of the individual touch screens built into the table, Yasha shifts into a corner of the room, standing at parade rest, eyes on Tony. Sam watches him for a minute, then catches Bruce’s eye. He points nonchalantly at his own neck, and Bruce just shrugs. Situation normal—only moderately fucked up, the gesture seems to convey. And really, that’s about what they’re going to get around here.

~*~

AIM teaming up with HYDRA is an entire kettle of bullshit.

First, fighting in the jungles of Vietnam isn’t any more fun for the Avengers in 2016 than it was for the US Army in 1968. Second, HYDRA. Fucking HYDRA. Third, the AIM scientists have come up with biological weapons so powerful that baseline humans can’t even participate in the fight, aside from Tony with his suit. That means they’re underpowered and extra annoyed, and it’s only the sheer luck of Thor being on planet at the moment and flying in halfway into the action that keeps them from getting embarrassingly creamed. 

As it is, once they’ve got all the hostiles under control, Hulk’s still throwing trees, and Tony’s having trouble calming him down since he can’t lift the faceplate and risk inhaling any of the toxic gunk coated on his suit. Yasha’s also in the area, but mostly ignoring the situation, as Hulk’s been ignoring  _ him _ for the duration of the fight. He plants himself on a log to wait, watching Tony, and remains there until a full-body shudder heralds a switch. He pushes to his feet, takes a look around the clearing Hulk’s created through single-handed deforestation, and frowns. 

“Tony? Do you need a hand or something?”

“James! Nice of you to show up. I’m open to ideas,” Tony agrees, making a wide circle a few meters in the air. Hulk turns to watch him, and then frowns down at James, cocking his head to the side.

“Hey, big guy,” James calls up to him with a broad grin. A beat, and then Hulk grins in return, ear to ear, reaching down and… patting James on the head. Inside the suit, Tony hovers in place and openly stares at them.

“You back. Banner special friend.” 

“Sure, buddy,” James laughs. “You can call me that. Fight’s over, though, and we’ve gotta detox and get in the quinjet. Any chance Banner’s nearby?”

Hulk shrugs, but he stops throwing trees and instead plunks down on his butt in the dirt, poking James gently in the back with one finger. “Banner boring. But you like him.”

“Yeah,” James agrees. “Like you too, though.”

“True? Like Hulk?”

“Yeah. You’re super good at smashing,” James offers, squeezing the huge index finger with both hands. Hulk grins proudly.

“Wait. He knows that there’s more than one of you? How does that work?” Tony asks through the comms. 

“Dunno. Hey, Hulk. You know Yasha? The guy you were fighting with a minute ago?”

Hulk makes a face. “Yeah. Why?”

“You know he’s not me.”

Hulk makes another face, this time one of incredulity. “Course not you! Like Banner not Hulk. Like mechanic not Iron Man,” he adds, pointing to Tony still hovering in the sky. James cocks an eyebrow and turns to look at Tony.

“I told him I was just a mechanic, once,” Tony explains through comms. “It stuck.”

“All righty then.” James falls quiet, leaning against one of the Hulk’s giant thighs, and after a few minutes he melts down into a naked, blushing Banner. 

“Uh. Hey.”

“Hey,” James grins, and kisses him briefly on the mouth. “Welcome back.”

“Bruce, you’ve got incoming!” Sam announces, flying over their position and dropping a bundle of clothes pretty accurately into Bruce’s lap. He can’t land while the area’s still full of toxic crap, but the air above is relatively clear. Bruce waves in thanks and Sam banks back towards the jet while he sorts out his clothing, James waiting patiently. 

“Any word on cleanup, Cap? Are we clear for detox?”

“Local HAZMAT teams on their way in,” Steve confirms over the comms. “Setting up a mobile decontamination unit between your position and the quinjet on the west-bound road.”

“Roger that, Rogers. It’s not too far, boys,” Tony adds through the suit’s speakers. “Three-quarters of a mile, give or take. You good to walk?”

“Sure,” James agrees, helping Bruce up once he’s laced his sneakers, and they head that way hand-in-hand, Tony flying ahead. The mobile unit is a basic-set up, but effective, with four decontamination showers arranged in tents. Thor and Steve have already been through when James and Bruce arrive, and Tony’s suit has been partially deconstructed and sealed in a decontamination unit for transport while the man himself is under the shower. 

Both men go through the procedures, leaving their clothing to be transported (in James’ case) or destroyed (Bruce’s civilian clothing being more easily replaced). Clean clothes are available on the other side, once James’s arm is also detached and stored, a plain black cap covering his shoulder. 

“So, that was interesting,” Tony remarks as the three of them head towards the quinjet. “The Hulk had no problem differentiating between James and Yasha,” he explains for Bruce’s benefit. “Called James your ‘special friend,’” he adds with a smirk. Bruce rolls his eyes, following Tony up the ramp with his hand in James’ again. 

“He’s not a complete idiot. Just single-minded.”

“Fair,” Tony agrees. “I mean, he doesn’t seem to like Yasha much. I wonder if he thinks… huh.” Tony frowns, and the other two just wait for him to finish his thought, taking seats next to one another in the troop hold. “Longshot, maybe, but he  _ is _ pretty protective of me.”

“What?” Bruce asks. “Wouldn’t that make him like Yasha more? I mean…  _ Yasha’s _ pretty protective of you, too.”

“Sure. I’m just thinking, I wonder if he associates Yasha more with the Soldier. If he can access your memories.” Tony frowns. “Did you ever actually watch the video from when he killed my parents?”

Bruce opens his mouth to answer, but James suddenly goes rigid next to him. “When he…  _ what _ ?!”

“When the Soldier… uh… you didn’t know that, I take it?”

James just stares at Tony, gaping like a fish, and then claps his hand to his forehead, rubbing fiercely there like he’s got a terrible headache and bending forward at the waist. Bruce’s hand goes to his back, rubbing soothing circles, and Tony meets Bruce’s eye looking guilty, mouthing an “oops??”

Around them, the preparations for takeoff are buzzing along, and it’s actually five minutes before Barnes sits up, blinks, and narrows his eyes, looking around. “Why am I here?” Yasha asks, his focus tracking around the jet as if he’s looking for something in particular. “The battle ended… right?”

“Yeah,” Bruce agrees, his tone gentle as he moves his hand back to his own lap. “No threat. Uh… I’m not sure.” Tony’s eyes are sharp, giving Bruce a look like he’s wondering why they don’t fill Yasha in on the previous conversation, but he just shakes his head minutely as Yasha stands up and shifts to the seat next to Tony. 

“Are you hurt?” Yasha asks, patting Tony’s face and down his chest. 

“No, but feel free to keep doing that,” Tony offers, with a cheeky little smile, and sure enough, Yasha gives him a thorough patdown while Bruce just makes an effort to avert his eyes.

~*~

“Someone’s upset,” Winter announces, coming into Tony’s bedroom holding an Iron Man plush tight to his chest. He’s wearing a soft grey jersey dress that Tony’s never seen before, his words projected in English on the wall next to the doorway. It’s a good look on him, and Tony can’t help but feel a little warm burst of pleasure as well when he recognizes the toy. It was one of the sillier purchases among all the various soft items for Winter, but he’s still happy to see that Winter finds it comforting. “I don’t know who,” Winter continues, and Tony reaches out with both arms, making grabby hands until Winter crawls up the bed and into his hold. “They won’t say.”

Tony makes a soft, comforting rumble of a sound as he bundles Winter up in his arms and a blanket, petting his hair. “I’m sorry. That sounds hard.” 

Winter nods a little, nuzzling his cheek against Tony’s chest. Tony smiles and strokes down his spine, feeling the stretchy fabric of the dress. “This is really soft. I like it.”

“JARVIS ordered it for me,” Winter explains with a smile that’s mostly hidden from Tony’s line of sight. “It feels nice.”

“Good call, J,” Tony grins. “You don’t have many of your own clothes do you,  _ zaichik _ ? That’s totally my bad.”

“It’s okay,” Winter mumbles. “I like my blankets and my pillows.” 

“And your Iron Man?” Tony teases, nudging the toy that’s squashed between their chests. Winter just giggles and reaches up, petting Tony’s hair.

“Yes,” he agrees in English. “I like my Iron Man.”

~*~

Winter’s around all night, which is slightly unusual, though he doesn’t follow Tony to the workshop in the morning. He doesn’t see anyone in the system until late afternoon, when he’s actually in his garage, buried in the hood of a Jaguar D type Happy recently spotted in an auction listing. Of course, Happy doesn’t know that Tony acquired the $15 million car  _ for _ his driver, and not his personal collection, but he needs to make some modifications to get this baby running in peak condition before actually bestowing the gift. He’s so absorbed in his work that he nearly brains himself when the blaring Stones album suddenly cuts to silence and he pops up, twisting around to find himself face to face with James.

“Uh...hi.”

“I killed your parents” is James’s opener, and it comes out flat, his eyes dead and red-rimmed. Tony frowns.

“Uh… yeah, well, technically the Soldier killed my parents. Really, HYDRA did, so no hard feelings.”

“No hard  _ feelings _ ?” James exclaims, and Tony’s honestly relieved when his eyes flare up with light, even if it’s the light of anger. “Honestly, what the  _ fuck _ ? How can you just… be  _ okay _ with that?”

“Well hold up,” Tony frowns, dropping the wrench he’s holding and taking a step forward. “I didn’t say I was  _ okay _ with it. I was pissed, obviously, but not at you. Not at any of you, once I got through the first 48 hours”–the less said about those 48 hours, the better–”I was pissed at HYDRA. Still am. But it was also twenty-five years ago. They’d be dead now either way, Dad certainly.” 

“Sure, but that doesn’t make it  _ right _ ,” James snarls. “You should be livid! I don’t care that he’s not me, that  _ part _ of me is an asshole and ought to pay for it. It’s not  _ okay _ .”

“No,” Tony agrees, letting an edge seep into his tone. “It’s not. But you don’t get to decide how I feel about it. I’m sorry nobody told you before now, I didn’t mean to just drop it on you like that, but… they’re mine to mourn, all right? And I did that, a long time ago.”

James frowns, looks like he’s maybe about to say something else, and then falls silent again. Tony gives him a moment, but it doesn’t seem like he’s got much more to add, so he turns back to the engine and JARVIS wordlessly turns the music back on, at 75% volume this time. 

As usual when he’s working, time falls away, and Tony gets completely absorbed in what he’s doing. So much so that it’s completely unexpected when someone sidles up next to him, peeking into the guts of the beautiful machine at hand, and he realizes James never left. 

“Damn,” the man next to him breathes out in a reverent tone. “That’s aces.”

Tony blinks, then goes back to tightening a bolt. “I didn’t know you knew cars.” 

“I’m… not sure,” James admits. “But this one sure is a looker.” He runs his finger slowly over the paint job, and Tony realizes that his accent has gone much more Brooklyn. He doesn’t say anything about it, though, just lets him watch as Tony delicately replaces a wire, then another one running parallel. When he reaches for his toolbox, James is there to lift it closer for him, and then frowning, shaking his head a bit. “Hang on. Someone else wants out.” 

Tony nods, waits patiently, and then watches a rapid series of blinks before the face settles into an unfamiliar expression. “Tony. You’re Tony.”

“Yep,” Tony agrees, “present and accounted for.” He’s perfectly ready for it to be a new, unknown alter, something they’ve all known could happen at any time, but he’s honestly more surprised when the man puts the toolbox down, wipes his hand on the back of James’ pants, and offers it with a wry grin.

“Bucky Barnes. Sorry to startle you.”

“Oh,” Tony murmurs, shaking the man’s hand, and yeah, he’s staring. He can’t really help it. “Uh… no problem. I just… didn’t expect you. Steve’s not around,” he adds, in case there’s confusion, but Bucky just smiles again and shakes his head.

“I’m not here for Stevie. I’m here for her,” he elaborates, nodding towards the engine. “Pretty sure they didn’t make ‘em like that when I worked at the garage.”

“Oh!” Tony takes a second to get his bearings, then grins. “Well… no. But also, this beauty wouldn’t exactly have shown up at a random garage in Brooklyn, even if it had been around,” he points out with just a hint of braggadocio. “One of the finest racing cars ever made, from 1955. You couldn’t just… own one of these.”

“Well,” Bucky drawls, leaning against the car and grinning at him. “Obviously  _ you _ can.”

“Sure,” Tony laughs. “But I’m an eccentric billionaire.”

“A real swell,” Bucky agrees, but it’s distracted, as he’s leaning over the gleaming exposed parts again. “Walk me through this?” 

And with that, Tony’s off to the races, telling Bucky about the XK engine, the way ideas from aviation were incorporated into the design, the aerodynamics of the car in competition. Bucky listens attentively, asking relevant questions and clearly content to act as Tony’s assistant, passing tools as he works. It’s only an alert from JARVIS about team dinner upstairs that forces Tony to take a break, wiping down his hands and forehead with a shop towel.

“Hey—thanks for this,” Bucky offers, looking a little bashful. “It was… really fun.”

“Sure,” Tony grins. “You know… you’re welcome any time,” he offers, and then softens his expression, letting Bucky see the weight of it. “I’m serious. All of you are.”

Bucky just nods, obviously not much more comfortable than Tony is with emotion, and they go their separate ways, Tony up to the common area and Bucky… somewhere else. By the time all the food’s been doled out, James slips in quietly and tucks a chair in at Steve’s right-hand side. Tony gives him a little nod, and then sits back to listen to the rest of Clint’s outrageous story from his circus days. Looking around the table at his team, the presence of the other men in James’ body invisible, but still felt, Tony realizes—this is just about all he could ask for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My mental title for this chapter is “Sometimes We Have Feelings About Murder.” One last chapter coming as an epilogue, folks, and then this one will be complete!
> 
> On comments: I just want to say, I super appreciate and read every single comment. Since I figured out the inbox feature, I’ve been responding to as many as I can, but if I don’t respond, it doesn’t mean I didn’t read and adore your comment. I have chronic fatigue of a sort plus social anxiety, and so the spoons kind of come and go. But your feedback fills me up and makes this feel like it is actually a contribution to a community, rather than just fulfilling my own porny needs, so I can’t say how much I appreciate all of you for that <3


	15. Epilogue: Five Times an Alter Reacted to a Dog + One Time Barton Pitched In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barnes gets a dog. A fluffy epilogue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU to all the amazing commenters for your feedback, ideas, and support on this story! It's been a joy to write. If you are missing this story and want more like it, you may enjoy the Protective Circles verse for an ensemble story with a similar mix of relationship-building and kinky shit, and pretty much any of my MCU one offs for more focus on the kinky shit (but also with romance). I write a bunch of different pairings, but often with some heavy Tony focus somewhere in the story. If you're a Stucky person, Protective Circles might work for you or Exchange (the latter especially if you like the Bucky recovery stuff in this story). In general, realistic D/s is kind of my jam.

**1**

The no-kill shelter is a little overwhelming at first, animals tucked into every bit of available space grouped by species, and Steve keeps a careful eye on James as they navigate the corridors, wondering if the environment will trigger a switch or dissociation and ready to get him out if need be. James is just a little quieter than usual, though, wandering among the cages with his hands in the pockets of his trendy jacket, giving Steve a not-unwelcome view of tight black jeans stretched over his posterior. He asks questions occasionally of the shelter employee guiding them, but otherwise just stops at what seem like random dogs’ cages, crouching down and observing the animals. He’s patient with his observations, spending several minutes at each cage, and Steve’s attention is starting to wander when he realizes James has been with one dog for an abnormally long amount of time, discussing him with the volunteer.

“Steve is a bit of a handful, but he’s super friendly with people,” she offers, and Steve frowns as he looks up from the dog’s enormous pink tongue, lolling in a yawn, to the petite brunette. 

“Excuse me?”

“She’s talking about the dog,” James snickers. “Though she’s not wrong.” Steve rolls his eyes and looks to the little card on the front of the cage, sure enough: Steve, Yellow Labrador Mix, Age 3-1/2. 

“What’s he mixed with?” Steve asks. 

“We’re not sure, but his personality is what you’d expect from a lab. Friendly, energetic, super playful. No significant past trauma, his previous family moved to a pet-free building and had to give him up. You don’t have to keep the name,” she adds with a little smile. “It takes them some time to adjust, but they get used to it.”

“Could we take him outside?” James asks, reaching his hand up to the cage for dog-Steve to lick.

“Sure, yeah, I can spare ten minutes to sign him out for a walk with you,” the volunteer offers, and soon they’re navigating Greenpoint with dog-Steve cheerfully guiding them towards interesting things to sniff and bark at. 

“He’s certainly enthusiastic,” James grins at Steve. “Lives up to the name.”

“You are  _ not _ keeping it if we go home with him,” Steve warns. “Way too confusing.”

“I know,” James agrees. “But still.”

After their short walk, wherein Steve poops next to a tree, yaps happily at four other dogs, and gets pets from two children, James has clearly made up his mind. Sure enough, when they return, he asks the volunteer to initiate the paperwork, and they spend some time learning about health needs, supplies, and other dog dad responsibilities before James is filling out the final form. 

“Name…  _ Sugar _ ?” Steve exclaims, leaning over James’ shoulder to read his neat, blocky handwriting. “You’re naming him  _ Sugar _ ?”

“Why not?” James grins in response, turning his head so they’re close enough to kiss. “You sayin’ my dog’s not sweet, Rogers?”

“No,” Steve grumbles, eyes narrowing in suspicion. “I’m saying you’re up to something.”

But he doesn’t get much else out of James, so he lets him finish the paperwork and they head to a nearby pet store, purchasing the first round of supplies they’ll need, including a carrying crate for the subway, before heading back to Manhattan. Sugar grouses a bit at the crate, but calms down a bit when James slides a chew toy inside. It’s only when they’re walking into the tower, Steve with a giant bag of kibble balanced on one shoulder, that James explains the dog’s name with a cheeky little grin.

“Steven. Grant. Rogers. C’mere, Sugar.” Steve trips to a halt, before following them into elevator with the biggest eyeroll his face can manage.

**2**

“That… that is…” Tony clears his throat, standing in the doorway of his own bedroom and staring, kind of at a loss as he points rather obviously at the big golden dog curled up on top of his duvet and half on Winter’s chest. “Eto sobaka v’mayey kravati.” That a dog doesn’t  _ belong  _ on Tony’s bed should go without staying. 

“Da,” Winter responds easily. “Eto Sakhar.”

“... the dog’s name is Soccer?” Tony frowns, and Winter giggles, shaking his head and giving the dog’s neck a good scratch with his right hand. 

“Sugar. His name is Sugar,” he explains in English.

“Okay…” Tony frowns. “He’s still in my bed, though, you got that part?”

“You can join us,” Winter offers magnanimously, and Tony narrows his eyes, trying to decide if Winter actually has it in him to be a little shit or if Tony’s projecting. Winter’s smile goes sly enough that Tony’s pretty sure it’s the former, and he huffs a bit as he kicks of his shoes. 

“Why is there a dog in my bed?” he grumbles, though he does sit down on Winter’s other side and bend down to press a kiss to his forehead. 

“He’s our dog. I like him. He helps me when my feelings are hard,” Winter explains, switching back to Russian, and the sentences are basic enough that Tony doesn’t have to glance up to see the translation. 

“Uh huh. I’m going to lose this argument, aren’t I?” He sighs and shifts down to lie next to Winter, and the dog helpfully leans over and licks his face. 

“He’s named for Steve,” Winter replies, and the non-sequitur is a little less of one (even if it is very confusing) when Tony takes another look at the dopey canine grin and big blue eyes. 

“Yeah. I see it.”

**3**

Steve is just returning to his apartment after his third therapy session when JARVIS interjects from the speakers overhead. 

“Pardon me, Captain, but I believe your assistance is needed at this time.”

“Sure, JARVIS, what’s up?”

“Mr. Barnes’ canine companion is currently scratching at his apartment door. I believe he requires a walk to relieve himself.”

“...okay. Any reason whoever’s fronting can’t take him out? Everything all right?”

“Nothing to be concerned about, Captain. But Yasha and Mr. Stark are… very occupied at present. Yasha suggested in no uncertain terms that you would be a superior option.”

“Oh, God,” Steve mutters, turning on his heel and heading back to the elevator bank. “I’ll bet he did. Forget I asked.”

Fortunately, walking Sugar is no difficult task. Steve takes him to the park, and they play fetch a bit with a Frisbee until Steve notices tourists gawking and taking photos. He doesn’t always get recognized when he’s not in uniform, but he supposes the way he throws a Frisbee might be a bit… distinctive. Sugar is terribly enthusiastic about it, leaping for the flying red disc and then bounding back to hand it off again, tongue lolling from his mouth when Steve takes the thing back. Back at the Tower, he gets scritches from the security staff and laps water from a bowl someone’s procured for him, so that he can hydrate before even going upstairs. Steve’s pretty sure the dog has more caché with the building staff than he does, and it’s only been a week.

**4**

Sam is less of an insomniac than the rest of the team, by a longshot, but he still gets nightmares occasionally. They’re almost always of Riley falling, but these days occasionally it’s Steve taking a stupid risk and someone taking a potshot at his brain, instead. When he makes it to the common area, a mug of hot chocolate in mind, he finds that he’s not alone. The Asset doesn’t bother him, though, just stands motionless by the windows, looking out over the dark of the city. It’s a familiar enough sight, so Sam ignores him and heads to the fridge for milk. Still, he can’t help but smile a little to himself at a new addition to the familiar tableau—Sugar, sitting on his haunches, standing guard at the window next to the hulking assassin.

He’s probably a terrible guard dog, in actuality, Sam muses. But not a bad friend.

**5**

“Oh my God,” Bruce laughs, tapping at something on his phone, and James frowns, leaning over the back of the sofa to see. Bruce tends to ignore his phone during their dates, and honestly, most of the time, but James recognizes the bright blue background of the Twitter app with a color photo underneath—Steve, in an Army baseball cap, tossing a Frisbee for Sugar to catch mid-air.  _ Hey Cap, thanks for swapping out your shield for me. Much easier on the teeth!  _ the caption reads. The account, gimmiesomesugar, has a little blue verified icon next to it.

“Is that… does my  _ dog _ have a Twitter account?” James asks, completely baffled.

“It appears so,” Bruce agrees, scrolling to another Tweet, this one without an image.  _ Please welcome to the newest Avenger to the family! My favorite food is Pop Tarts. I like long walks in the park and chewing on shoes. _

“He doesn’t  _ chew shoes _ ,” James exclaims indignantly. “Who even set this up?”

“Either Tony or Clint, if I had to guess.”

“Tony or Clint are stalking Steve to the park with a camera?”

“Well, no,” Bruce points to a photo credit. “But everything online is just recycling.”

“This is ridiculous.  _ I  _ don’t have a Twitter account.”

“Well…” Bruce looks unecessarily sly, and James groans when he passes the phone over, with @SargeantAtArms pulled up. “Not an official one.” As far as James can tell, it’s an entire Twitter feed dedicated to pictures of his arms, both flesh and metal, spotted in battle or around town. 

“ _ Seriously _ ? Wait a minute, you  _ follow  _ this one…?”

Bruce grins and shrugs. “You have nice arms.”

**+1**

When JARVIS lets Clint know that the persecutor alter is having another incident one afternoon, and that Sam is handling it (and Natasha is with Steve), he doesn’t think much of it. In fact, he completely forgets that anything is happening until ten minutes later, when there’s a strange scratching sound at his door. He frowns for a minute, then remembers the new doggy door installed for the Barnes apartment, and gets up to open the door for Sugar.

Sure enough, the mutt’s standing there, tail cheerfully wagging, looking expectantly up at Clint. 

“JARVIS? Does he need a walk or something?”

“Sugar had an opportunity to leave the building a little over an hour ago, Agent Barton. He does not appear to be in distress.”

“Huh. Well, all right.” He leans down to give the dog a bit of a scratch, then remembers the leftovers he was about to snack on. “Hey boy. ...you like pizza?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My headcanon is that the dog gets to know the name Sugar, but still answers to “Steve,” so whenever someone calls Steve’s name and Sugar is around, there’s an adorable double-head swivel to the speaker.
> 
> And yes, that's a pizza dog reference, my fellow Fraction fans. I couldn't quite make the dog be Lucky, since it's not Clint's dog, but who doesn't love a good slice?


End file.
